


And Then You Kissed Me

by EarthsickWithoutYou



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A lot of snuggling too like all the snuggles, Dom/sub Play, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2020-07-29 11:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20081572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthsickWithoutYou/pseuds/EarthsickWithoutYou
Summary: Hannibal is coming down with a cold, and is an absolutely ridiculous hot mess.  Will can't help but take care of the killer despite the recent damage to their friendship, but with all that pride, betrayal and heartbreak between them, how close will they let themselves get?Starts in late season 2, around the time of "Naka-Choko."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [GIFSET: Ivan x Lee](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19896364) by [Emergencytrap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emergencytrap/pseuds/Emergencytrap). 

Hannibal blinked out of a momentary haze, looking at the usually neat contents of his desk only to find the items annoyingly scattered. A headache pulsed harshly in his temples as he sat up in his chair and realized he must have been dropping folders, books and papers on the desk all day without a single modicum of order. He supposed he was distracted, even more so than usual, or at least he could certainly follow the idea of distraction back to its origin point, even give it a name: Will Graham.

But while the continued emotional tug-of-war with his favorite patient had long since caused his life to become messier, today was far worse. The pain in his head was echoed by a raspy twinge in his throat, his thoughts came sluggishly, he was hot and cold at the same time, and his sinuses were completely -- completely --

“Achoo!” Hannibal heaved a sneeze into the tissue he’d grabbed just in time, and as he rubbed his nostrils they stung, the skin getting dry and red from the number of times he’d repeated the procedure today. 

“Damn,” he grumbled, tossing the tissue towards the trash only for it to miss. He forced his heavy-feeling body up and leaned down to retrieve it, just as the doorbell chimed. 

It couldn’t be 7:30 already. He scrambled for his phone to verify the time, but he seemed to be moving in slow motion.

“Dr. Lecter?” A certain sexy male voice called dubiously.

How did Will manage to sound teasingly seductive and threateningly resentful at the same time? It was driving Hannibal mad lately, and he was supposed to be the therapist. 

“Hello, Will,” he said feebly as he opened the door, hating the tell-tale throatiness of his voice. "Please--" _cough-cough!_

He covered his mouth hastily, swallowing to try and fend off more coughs. Then, frail from the exertion, he finished, "Please, come in."

_I ought to have cancelled this appointment. It’s unbearable, letting him see me like this._

Hannibal knew all too well what happened to him on those rare occasions when his immune system rudely stole away his ability to remain the picture of cultured eloquence, a man far too strong to feel more than a passing interest in much of anything. When he was ill, he became _weak_; worst of all, he started to ache to be held, fussed over, cared for, and if he even allowed himself a moment’s fantasy of Will being the one to do it, he’d be lost, weaker than ever.

But then a new inspiration struck: he could play the sympathy card, ham it up a bit with his symptoms, and perhaps that would soften Will’s temperament towards him. Maybe he could tempt Will closer by letting him glimpse this obnoxiously human illness. What if he could take that dream of Will caring for him and make it come true?

“You look terrible,” Will whistled, strolling into Hannibal’s office.

“I seem--” Hannibal coughed theatrically, but doing so made his throat scream with agonizing soreness, and he sank into his usual chair across from Will, rubbing his neck, struggling to get words out audibly: “I seem to be coming down with a bit of a cold.”

“You know, normally I wouldn’t believe you; I would just assume you were faking it to try and gain my sympathy and trick me into some absurd fit of mischief for your own amusement, but you really are sick. Do you want me to go?” Will sat forward, his hands clasped between his knees as he examined Hannibal’s waxy, exhausted features.

“Do you want to go?” Hannibal frowned, still slightly offended by Will’s statement that he looked “terrible.” 

Naturally, Will looked just as exquisitely handsome as ever, showing again his more recent understanding of matching an ironed shirt to an equally unrumpled pair of nicely tailored trousers, his hair neatly combed with just one perfect curl escaping to his forehead. Hannibal was forced to confront the unfortunate realization that under the weight of illness, he couldn’t fight the longing he felt for Will, which was a thousand times worse than any physical blight could ever be. The game he’d tried to play was over before it began. 

_You win this time, Will.___

_ _“You’re ridiculous,” Will accused with dark humor as Hannibal seemed to confirm it by sneezing, patting himself down for a tissue which was absent from all of his pockets._ _

_ _“Here.” Will retrieved the tissue box from Hannibal’s desk and brought it over, dropping to his knees to get a closer look at his ailing therapist. Shaking his head, he murmured, “You know, you could just _ask me_, if you need help.”_ _

_ _“I am supposed to be helping you,” Hannibal insisted, bleary-eyed._ _

_ _“Oh my God, it’s actually true!” Will laughed, pressing his palm to Hannibal’s forehead. “Doctors do make the worst patients.”_ _

_ _Hannibal closed his eyes and let out a careful, slow breath, undone by the simple, precious tenderness of Will’s touch. The mere implication of Will nursing him made Hannibal want to fling himself into his arms, beg for it, do anything it took to receive just one tiny hint saying that his feelings were reciprocated._ _

_ _“All commonly used cliches have at their earliest basis some kernel of truth,” he croaked._ _

_ _“You’re burning up. Did you take any medicine?” Will drew his hand back and watched as Hannibal’s damp palms roved over the arms of his chair, like a silent flinch of distress at losing Will’s touch._ _

_ _“Not yet. I tend to avoid taking that measure for as long as I possibly can, but I suppose it is now inevitable if I wish to recover. I’ll just go home…” __

__Laying the ‘poor, pitiful, helpless Hannibal’ routine on thickly again, he attempted to get up from the chair, but the pain rushed back to his temples at full force, making him groan and regret the attempt to add any further drama to a situation that hardly needed embellishment._ _

_ _“Oh, you poor martyr,” Will chuckled, taking Hannibal’s arm and helping him up. “Come on, I’ll drive you home. Do you have some cold medicine you can take?”_ _

_ _“Yes, but I warn you, it is best that you simply see me home and allow me to take the medicine alone, sleep this ailment off, and hopefully return to my normal state of mind and health as soon as possible.” Hannibal leaned on Will until they got to his car, where Will opened the passenger side door for him and assisted him in the suddenly complicated procedure of climbing in and sitting down._ _

_ _Will chose not to reply to this comment, but Hannibal wasn’t sure he liked the look of the smirk on his face as he slid the key into the ignition and backed out of the driveway._ _

_ _

_ _“That will be quite enough from you, Will,” Hannibal insisted once he was sitting up in his bed, two Nyquil tablets nestled in his hand. “Thank you very much for all your assistance, I...I won’t forget it.”_ _

_ _“No, you won’t, because I’m not going anywhere.” Will handed him a tall glass of water and watched him swallow the pills, wincing at the pain of getting the medicine down. _ _

_ _“Why are you helping me at all?” Hannibal asked. “I should have thought you would either take pleasure in my miserable state or do all you could to worsen my condition.”_ _

_ _“First, answer me this, Dr. Lecter.” Will got into bed beside him, albeit staying above the covers, his back propped against pillows as he crossed his ankles, looking downright cozy. _ _

_ _Hannibal’s heart skipped a beat. Why did he have to be so breathtakingly beautiful, all the time? It was so much worse now, with his own inhibitions fraying._ _

_ _“Why did you want me to leave before you took the Nyquil?” Will’s voice was unmistakably laced with sardonic amusement, but even in his woozy state, Hannibal heard the slight undertones of concern and curiosity. _ _

_ _Hannibal’s heart beat faster at the suggestion which he was too feeble to shut off in his mind. If there was even a tiny chance Will could forgive him, call him a true friend again, perhaps even love him...it was well-worth risking a little honesty._ _

_ _“The truth is that I have a low tolerance for cold medicine. It affects me---” Hannibal yawned as Will’s gorgeous, fascinated face started to blur slightly. “Very quickly and strongly with a combination of sleepiness and punchiness wherein I cannot fully predict my ability to maintain certain borders of pride and secrecy.”_ _

_ _“You mean Nyquil makes you stop lying every three sentences or so, stop hiding behind grand allusions and fanciful ponderings long enough to speak your mind?” Will’s face lit up. “God, yes! Finally. No wonder you wanted me out of here.”_ _

_ _“I never really want you away from me,” Hannibal answered, sinking deeper into the bed, closing his eyes as the liquigels caused his headache to wane. Then he realized what he had just said and blinked confusedly. “That is to say--”_ _

_ _“No, no I like this version of you,” Will maintained, lying down on his side to face Hannibal, who regarded him with hypnotized, intoxicated trepidation. “This is all I ever really wanted from you back when I thought you were my friend, even after. I just wanted you to stop fucking lying to me. Tell me something else true.”_ _

_ _“I think not.” He squeezed his eyes shut again, stubbornly opting for silence, hoping sleep would soon take him away from his awful danger, being in Will’s power, unable to fight his investigative skills and insightful analysis in any way. _ _

_ _Then Hannibal felt Will’s breath warmly tickling his face, opened his eyes to gaze adoringly as Will asked, raising his eyebrows, lips parting with a cherubic smile around the words, “C’mon, Hannibal. Please?”_ _

_ _Hannibal could only pray to a God he was on terrible terms with that Will would assume he was not blushing, but only flushed from illness. It was certainly interesting to learn that he could become this aroused despite being sick and slightly high on Nyquil, but his growing erection at Will’s sudden nearness, the sound of him saying ‘Please’ -- it was only making him _more_ distracted. He sniffed, blinked his watery eyes, and answered huskily._ _

_ _“What do you want to know?” _ _

_ _Will’s smile grew smugger, but his eyes were dead serious. “We’ve been getting close again lately...since I was released, since we resumed my therapy. I thought we were even closer than we were before, because now I could see you, fully know you. And although I despise you for what you did to me, for some god-forsaken reason, I--”_ _

_ _He broke off, flopping onto his back and throwing an arm over his face, grunting at the necessity of admitting his own weakness. _ _

_ _“I still care. I liked that we were closer, getting closer every day, I...well, why don’t I say this to you now, while you’re wasted on antihistamines?” Will turned his stunning, blazing blue eyes to Hannibal again, meeting his helplessly eager gaze. “I loved it.”_ _

_ _He watched Hannibal blinking back tears, and they both knew they _were_ tears, not watery eyes from being ill. _ _

_ _Ripping the eye contact away, he asked the ceiling, “So why did you ruin it?”_ _

_ _“Did I?” asked Hannibal, shifting closer, longing to reach out to him with more than words, wishing he could stroke and kiss away any doubt that had ever plagued Will’s mind about his feelings._ _

_ _“You sent Randall Tier to kill me.”_ _

_ _“No. I sent Randall Tier to be killed by you. I knew you would best him easily, without even having to bat a single one of those long, pretty eyelashes of yours. Oh dear, I didn’t mean to say that out loud…”_ _

_ _Will was genuinely shocked, as if he’d just been fumbling around in the dark, hoping that Hannibal was attracted to him, but never entirely sure of it. “Pretty?”_ _

_ _“Spare me the false modesty; it is tiresome. I’m sure you’re not oblivious to the fact that you are gorgeous, Will.”_ _

_ _Will considered the words carefully, his own cheeks going flushed, and ignoring the pathetic rebuke, he leaned in to press his forehead to Hannibal’s, gentle so as not to cause his headache to return. _ _

_ _“Careful...you’ll catch my cold.”_ _

_ _“I don’t care,” Will said thickly. Closing his eyes, he added quickly, impulsively, “In the interest of reciprocity, you should know I think you’re gorgeous, too.”_ _

_ _Hannibal’s heart thudded harder, excitement sizzling up and down his spine as he dared to caress Will’s face, thrilling at the warmth of his skin, the softly bristling stubble, the catch in Will’s breath._ _

_ _“You were...attracted to me?” Hannibal tilted his face as if to kiss him, stopping just short of doing so, hovering his lips above the only lips he ever wanted to kiss, the man he wanted with a fervor that had only grown stronger with each miserable day they’d spent at odds._ _

_ _Knowing his own power and enjoying it even as Hannibal did the same, Will whispered against his mouth, “Yes.”_ _

_ _Hannibal let out a small, urgent growl and something flashed with equal intensity in Will’s eyes, as if he wanted to scream at Hannibal or rip both their clothes off, or both._ _

_ _“You said you never want me away from you, but you _sent_ me away.” A sob bloomed in his throat, defying his pride. _ _

_ _“I only framed you for those murders to protect you from me, Will.” He raked his hand through those adorable curls and sighed. “You were going to find out the truth about me, and I couldn’t bring myself to kill you. What else could I do?”_ _

_ _“Oh, I don’t know, tell me the truth yourself?” Will suggested testily. “Have an actual conversation with me, give me a chance to decide how I felt about your proclivities instead of taking advantage of my encephalitis and forcing me into the humiliating ordeal of false accusations, a ruined reputation, and jailtime?”_ _

_ _“It’s what I thought I had to do to keep you in one piece, to have you...to have you to myself still, as much as that could ever be possible, and I assumed it wasn’t much, but it would have to do. Will, you can’t expect me to believe you would have accepted me, or let me enjoy my continued freedom.”_ _

_ _“Look at us now. Haven’t I accepted you?”_ _

_ _“Have you? I’ve been half-concerned you might be collaborating with Jack Crawford to trick me into revealing myself.”_ _

_ _“If I’d done that, it would have been no less than you deserved,” Will maintained, checking the heat of Hannibal’s brow again and looking discerningly at his attire, a confining button-down shirt. “You must be melting in that, come on, sit up.”_ _

_ _Hannibal tried to save Will the trouble of unbuttoning the shirt, but then he couldn’t get it over his head, somehow managing to get his head stuck in the process._ _

_ _“Did I mention that you are ridiculous?” Will asked, extricating him from the shirt and looking with unrestrained awe at Hannibal’s bare upper body, the hair dusting his chest, trailing down his alluring stomach where the killer’s breath caught suddenly._ _

_ _Hannibal looked away self-consciously at first, but then he felt the heat of Will’s gaze and got up the nerve to stare back, just in time to see Will sucking his own lower lip, looking momentarily dumbfounded._ _

_ _“That’s better,” Hannibal said into the heavy silence, taking a sip of water, intending to let it dribble down his lips and chin, perhaps letting off a perfect rivulet of liquid down his neck, but sadly he lacked the finesse and ended up coughing, absurdly spluttering too much water._ _

_ _“Ridiculous,” Will smiled, taking the glass away and setting it on the bedside table. _ _

_ _With his hands he began to gently swipe the dampness from Hannibal’s chin, then slid his thumb across his enemy’s lips, making Hannibal gasp._ _

_ _“Will.” His brown eyes were huge, pleading._ _

_ _Will shook his head as if in reprimand, but it wasn’t clear who was being scolded. He ran his knuckles down Hannibal’s neck and the killer lifted his chin, his palms planted into the mattress, pressing in deep. At Hannibal’s unspoken invitation, Will leaned in as if to kiss his neck, but his courage failed and he merely coasted his lips just barely above the skin, underneath which raw aching throbbed, sickness and arousal pulsing and tightening all over Hannibal’s body._ _

_ _Hannibal sighed, lovelorn and perhaps never lonelier than under the thrall of this restrained affection, more a confirmation of Will’s inability to fall all the way in love with someone he considered a monster than anything else. Yet that sigh seemed to make Will unravel a tiny bit more, both of them knowing that every little surrender took him closer to the point of no return, a place where his morality could no longer protect him from what he really wanted._ _

_ _Will’s knuckles traveled down to his friend's chest, then his hand turned over, wiping away more water before he planted both hands palms-down on Hannibal's pectorals. _ _

_ _“_Will._” Hannibal lowered his chin and smoldered, the frustration more than he could bear. “There’s no need to be cruel.”_ _

_ _“Why, haven’t you been?” Will clasped Hannibal’s neck, squeezing slightly, his voice full of unjustified authority. “I depended on you, I needed you, and you were cruel. You tricked me.”_ _

_ _A tear of anguished joy trickled down Hannibal’s cheek, leaping from his chin to kiss Will’s hand. Pulling away, Will looked down at the salty remnant of vulnerability which had burst in a tiny plea on his index finger. He licked the tear, probably considering the fact that Hannibal had made no move to reciprocate his physical advances, giving him the power this time. _ _

_ _“I’m sorry,” Hannibal said in his nasal, rough voice, “I only apologized for Abigail, but I was too bent on self-preservation to admit the rest. Even when I knew you knew.”_ _

_ _“Would you let me in like this if you weren’t sick?” _ _

_ _“I don’t know. I’d like to say no, but then again, I’m afraid there’s very little you couldn’t have from me if you asked. That’s most likely why I resorted to cruelty and hid from you in my prideful fortress.” _ _

_ _Hannibal hung his head, his drained body crying out for sleep, his heart bludgeoned, but he forced himself to remain as alert as he could be. _ _

_ _Even if this was the closest they ever got, he could not miss a moment of it._ _

_ _Will nodded with sullen acceptance. “Lie down.”_ _

_ _Hannibal obeyed, and Will hovered over him, business-like again, unfastening his trousers, sliding the zipper down as they both breathed heavily but said nothing._ _

_ _“Lift up a little,” Will ordered quietly. _ _

_ _As Hannibal obliged, Will slid his trousers down and removed them, taking his sweet time to caress the murderer’s thighs, legs and ankles through the fabric of the pants, tugging the socks off, too, crumpling them in a ball, wrapping them up in the pants._ _

_ _“You’re hot and cold at the same time, right? This will help.” In the same no-nonsense manner, Will pulled the sheets up to Hannibal’s chest._ _

_ _Hannibal nodded, giving into Will’s care, finding that the lack of clothing aside from his underwear, combined with the slight warmth of the sheets, did give the right comfort to his shivers and sweat._ _

_ _Will got up to place the “folded” pants on top of the bureau, giving Hannibal the chance to notice how haphazardly they were arranged._ _

_ _“Is this how you fold your own laundry?” Hannibal laughed hoarsely. “Because that actually explains quite a lot.” _ _

_ _Will’s irritated expression made him laugh again, but this time it hurt, and he groaned, sniffing and reaching with bewilderment for wherever the tissues had gone this time._ _

_ _“Here,” Will soothed, handing him a kleenex and then carefully sliding his hand under Hannibal’s head, easing it up enough to add a second pillow. “You have to elevate your head or the congestion will get worse and you’ll be up all night coughing. Jesus, don’t you know anything about how to take care of yourself?”_ _

_ _Hannibal shook his head, the movement languid, his eyes getting hazier as inevitable sleep encroached on his wish to stay conscious._ _

_ _“Why do you love me?” Will murmured, his skin smelling warmly of woodsy aftershave, his breath scented with wintergreen, fear spiking the combination with faint citrus notes._ _

_ _“Do you have to ask? It’s you, Will.” Hannibal reached up to softly clasp Will’s face as the image of it swayed in front of him. Raising his hand at all was a massive achievement as it felt weighted down to the bed like the rest of him. He lost the ability to keep it there, feeling the delectable scruff of Will’s stubble and the heat of his skin, lost everything as he slipped helplessly away into sleep._ _

_ _In the thick stupor of dwindling consciousness, Hannibal thought he might have felt the slightest brush of Will’s lips against his feverish brow, but he couldn’t be sure if it was real, or the beginning of a dream._ _


	2. Chapter 2

Hannibal woke up the next morning afraid to open his eyes, convinced the night before must have been an elusive, mean-spirited dream sent by a spiteful God to torment him with precious, excruciating impossibilities.

He had eaten no dinner last night, and his stomach growled angrily, forcing him to confront the day. Just as he expected, the place next to him in the big bed was empty and cold. Even having Alana there with him on certain recent nights had done nothing to melt the icicles from his heart at Will’s absence, Will’s hatred, the fact that all he had left to draw Will near were the numbly disappointing manifestations of hollow, petty vengeance. 

Sitting up, he rubbed his fingers over the silk sheets to find them sweat-dampened. His underwear were slicked to his hot-skinned body, his nostrils still overworked and flaky, congestion filling his nose and head, the soreness at his throat only slightly alleviated, leaving behind a wretched sense of dehydration.

The clock on the table said it was ten o’clock, and even though he’d stolen a few extra hours worth of sleep, he still had a whole, miserable day to get through with the evil, teasing dream tugging at his heartstrings, threatening to rip him apart.

After fumbling through a shower, he put on his bathrobe and slippers, then made his way in sluggish resignation to the kitchen.

_Pull yourself together. He’s not coming back; he was never even here. And you can’t meet him again the next time with your sadness burning inside you because he will know._

Even his ego, usually a reliable source of joy and resilience, nauseated him with its pathetic suggestions, as if he could put some flimsy, plastic bandage over the whole immensity of his inner world collapsing in a bloodbath, sweeping away his proud memory palace, decimating its severe grandeur, drowned in Will, lost forever.

And he hadn’t even been shopping. Confronted with the tragic sight of a single wedge of cheese and a plate of berries which had started to turn the wrong shade of blue, he felt too much camaraderie with the meager fare.

Sighing, he took out the fresh-squeezed orange juice from yesterday, relieved to discover it still smelled fine. He gulped the tartly sweet drink right out of the bottle, rebelling against his usually obsessive, neat routines. What did it matter if he was a brazen savage, if he was going to be alone forever? Being without Will was being alone forever, despite anyone else he might have in his life, by his side, in his bed.

He startled when the front door opened, accompanied by the crunching sounds of brown paper shopping bags, the smell of horribly uncouth aftershave, and the footfall of familiar plainly sensible work boots. The kind you would wear to go fishing or take the dogs for a walk.

Hannibal paused, the bottle of juice still precariously clasped in his clammy hand, threatening to smash to the floor at any moment, between the sweat and condensation, and he blinked slowly three times, worried he might be starting to fall prey to delusion.

“Hey,” Will greeted casually, walking into the kitchen like he lived there, heaving the grocery bags onto the counter.

Because he felt like he was going to faint out of pure happiness, Hannibal made himself scowl as he asked, “Why did you come back?”

“Somebody’s grumpy in the morning.” Will came over, took the juice bottle from Hannibal and set it aside on the counter, his eyes returning to rake over the murderer with appreciation at his snuggly bathrobe, his chest peeking above its folds, the shift in his expression from defensive to helplessly overwhelmed. 

Will backed Hannibal against the open fridge, then slicked his fingers through Hannibal’s wet hair. “Why do you think I came back?” 

His clear, true blue eyes were twinkling with clever amusement and overt anticipation.

“I didn’t expect you to. I wasn’t even sure whether last night was real.”

“Let me help you with that,” Will murmured, leaning in to capture Hannibal’s mouth in a soft kiss. 

Hannibal moaned and gripped the fridge door as Will clasped his face in both hands, deepening the kiss and then swiping his eager tongue over the orange juice still lingering on his friend’s full, delighted lips.

“Does that feel real?” Will’s sensuous voice drenched the teasing words, twisting them around that tongue which moments before had been in Hannibal’s own mouth. 

“Yes,” Hannibal answered haltingly, fighting to remember how to draw breath into his exhausted lungs. 

“Your heart is like a sledge hammer,” Will said, sliding his palm over it, claiming the intimate access to his friend’s body as if it was his natural right. 

Hannibal blinked against fresh tears, then repeated huskily, “Yes,” grabbing Will’s head and kissing him again, hard and needy and obvious as his cock, thick and throbbing, poking into Will’s thigh.

Will felt it and drew back from Hannibal’s lips with a heady sigh. “I guess there’s your answer. As to why I came back, that is. I only left because I had to feed and let out the dogs.” 

“We have a bad history with refrigerators,” Hannibal noted, making them both laugh. “But not anymore.” 

Will stepped back and Hannibal closed the fridge, fragile amusement just barely edging out his desperate lust, making it possible to avoid going much too fast when all he wanted to do was savor every single step between the here and now, and making long, lingering love to his best friend, his bitterest enemy.

“Hungry?” Will asked with a smirk, starting to unpack food from the bags. 

“I should think the answer is quite self-evident,” Hannibal retorted, making to help Will with the groceries, but his friend waved him off with a level of self-importance that impressed him. 

“Cut that out, you’re still sick. Sit down and relax.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded to the chair at the island.

As he took his seat, Hannibal ran his fingers over his lips, then over his cheeks and chin, still feeling the delicious reverberations of Will’s stubble brushing against his flesh. 

“I’m going to make you breakfast,” Will announced with that cocky, know-it-all air which drove Hannibal equally as mad as Will tended to get in response to his therapist’s normally insufferable level of smugness. 

But there was an undercurrent of tenderness in his tone, a shyness flitting over his smile at their surreal circumstances, the great uncertainty of what would happen next between them.

“Is that a threat?” Hannibal inquired archly, or as archly as he could with his throat still scratchy, congestion still fogging his euphoric brain. “Finally, your opportunity for revenge.”

“I don’t want revenge on you anymore,” Will replied easily, taking out a carton of eggs, a stick of butter, a bag of bakery-fresh bread and a pack of bacon. “I just want you.”

For that last statement, his nerve failed him slightly and he over-focused on opening the bacon, then locating two skillets, a bowl and whisk, all while Hannibal watched him in dazed infatuation.

“Why are you doing this, Will?” His own hands lay on the counter, bereft of purpose if it wasn’t to hold onto Will for dear life.

“Umm, well, when I’m sick I definitely don’t feel like cooking, but I do still need to eat occasionally. I hazarded a guess you might be in the same predicament, but forgive me if I’m mistaken.” He cracked the eggs and mixed them confidently, smiling over at Hannibal when he felt the heat of his eyes locked to his hands preparing their food.

“Are you avoiding the question, Will, because there’s no doubt in my mind you understood it.” 

Hannibal went to him, wrapping his arms around Will’s stomach, resting his face lightly in the crook of his neck and shoulder. “Why?”

“Because you were honest with me,” Will acknowledged, dropping the whisk to place his hands over Hannibal’s. “And because for better or for worse, you’ve changed me, shown me the truth inside myself, given me the ability to grow stronger in that truth. Because you believed I could, it was easier to stop fearing my darker impulses, and I think now I can find purpose for them...hone them, use them to impose proper justice on an ugly world.”

Will sighed as Hannibal kissed his neck, and then he added softly, “Because the world is ugly, but you are beautiful. The moment you stopped lying to me about yourself, we came to a place where this could _be_, and...fool that I am, I can’t resist taking the chance.”

Hannibal’s reply came warm against Will’s neck, his hands soothing over Will’s chest and belly as Will’s fingers followed the motion, like being taught to sculpt joy out of despair. 

“Can you imagine someone like me becoming so very human, all over someone like you? Can you see me, making myself go through the motions of animosity, knowing all I will ever want is your love, your touch, your kiss? Knowing that if I have a care in the world for my own self interest I ought to slice you raw and eat you bit by bit to feel I’m free? Knowing I can’t because I would choke on you for all this repulsive, unrequited, pathetic need that somehow seems to fuel my every thought and action? Can you imagine that?” 

Hannibal squeezed his eyes shut, fearing himself the way Will used to. ”I can. I feel it. It’s all I have left to feel.”

“It’s not unrequited,” Will smiled gently, turning to face him, pressing a kiss to his lips, running his fingertips down the opening in his robe. “It never was.” He kissed him again, then added, “It’s not pathetic. It’s home.” Pressing Hannibal’s hand to his heart, he finished, “This is home. Can you imagine that?”

Hannibal nodded shakily. “I can try.”

“Good. Then sit. Down. I’m going to make you breakfast.” He winked, actually had the audacity to wink at the cannibalistic serial killer as he turned to spill the eggs into the skillet, then carefully place the bacon in a smooth row on the other pan, deftly striding to the opposite counter to put the bread in the toaster. “Did you think I didn’t know how to cook?”

“I think you know how to cook a fish you’ve just caught and slide a sheet of frozen french fries into the oven,” Hannibal allowed as his nose started to itch again. “Achoo!”

“Bless you,” Will said, tending to the food as it firmed up, eggs going fluffy, bacon popping slightly, sending a savory saltiness into the air. “Surprise, I can make eggs, too.”

“That remains to be seen, Will.” Hannibal blew his nose, the act prompting him to ask, “You know you’re practically certain to catch my cold. But you kissed me anyway.”

“Several times,” Will reminded him cheerfully, making them each a plate and sliding Hannibal’s in front of him proudly. “Bon appetit, darling.”

“Hmm,” Hannibal mused, chewing his first mouthful, “With the way this morning is going, I would happily eat anything you gave me, even the most disgusting blackened char, but actually, this is quite good.”

“Quite good?” Will chuckled, swallowing a bite of toast, then taking a sip of the coffee he’d brought in a to-go mug from home. “I can die happy now.”

The kettle whistled and he added brightly, “There’s your tea.”

“Could you really die happy, Will?” Hannibal stirred honey into his chamomile thoughtfully. “Not so long ago you confessed that the only thing making you particularly happy was the fantasy of killing me.”

“That’s a point of contention,” Will winced, finishing his food and taking the plate to the sink, trying to decide the best way to answer as Hannibal shamelessly admired the look of him in that soft, blue plaid flannel shirt and well-fitting jeans.

“How so?” 

“Uhhh…” Will sat down next to him again, covering his face in his hands, then peeking carefully through his fingers at Hannibal’s amusedly expectant face. “Okay. I fantasized about murdering you, countless times, but umm...I left out a rather salient detail when telling you about it, because I was pretty outraged at you for framing me and continuing to lie about what you’d done, what it is you do.”

“I promise I won’t lie to you again, Will. No matter what. And a promise from me is iron-clad.”

“Wow, you really want to hear this.” Will took another sip of coffee to fortify himself, then braced his hands tensely on the counter. “Yeah, I -- uhh -- God this is hard to say, fuck! Since the first time I imagined killing you, it’s been the only way I could make myself come.”

Whatever else he had been expecting from Will’s confession, Hannibal was unprepared for this revelation. His mouth dropped slightly open as a wave of insistent arousal ran through him and he prompted, just as tense now as Will, “Tell me more.”

“I tried to block it out, but at one point I dreamed that as I beat and choked the life from you with my bare hands, I started to get so excited, and so were you, you -- you would _grin_ at me, then just as I delivered the final, brutal blow, you _came_, your eyes flashing with menacing ferocity, your cum gushing and coating my body, so that it was about that point in the dream I realized we were both naked. Then every time I got horny, masturbation just kept bringing me back to that same image. Sometimes you would turn into a black, dead-eyed wendigo as I beat you, as if you were this staunchly unknowable enigma who could resist my need to draw your blood and desire, but by the end I had you stripped back down to human form.”

“You knew that if you killed me, I would be excessively aroused by the experience,” Hannibal acknowledged.

“Yes. And more than that, the dream let me have what I always wanted, to be the one who could make you come, screaming and defenseless to your need of me, to get to see your face lit up in disbelief as the orgasm seized you and squeezed every ounce of pleasure from your body, as it killed you with overstimulation and the endless thirst for more, that I could _give_ that to you and hear you -- what would it be? Sometimes you would gasp or moan, or cry out my name, sometimes you were so shocked in the throes that you couldn’t make a sound, you could only cling to me. It was a fantasy of you trusting me with your most private, devastatingly profane self.”

Will’s words made Hannibal dizzy and lust-crazed, and brought over his face the curtain of sternness which had always rendered Will all too easily subservient. 

“Would you return the favor?” He asked intently, “Would you let me be the one above you, looking into your eyes when you come? Would you trust me with that?”

“I don’t want it to be anyone else--” Will began, his eyes shining with emotion, but something in that admission troubled his friend.

“What about Alana?”

“What _about_ Alana?” Will retorted grimly. “How was it, anyway, fucking her? Did you think of me? Did you do it because of me? Or was it…” He swallowed past a ruthlessly aggressive pain in the next idea. “Was it nothing to do with me at all? Was it because you simply _wanted_ her?”

“Fucking Alana held no further meaning to me than an advantageous release and the superficial enjoyment of aesthetic entertainment. If she was my lover, then she was my alibi, and that was the original inspiration for our trysts. Beyond that, I wanted to make you angry, Will, I wanted to know if you would feel jealousy over Alana, or if you were capable of feeling it over me.” It was hard to remember that particular agony while keeping his sore, watery eyes on Will’s fathomless ones so deep in memories of his own heartbreak.

“I felt it over you,” Will confirmed.

“I’d like to believe that. It’s nice to hear, mostly because it was you I would think of when I was with her.” Finishing his tea while doing his best to remain calm, he put in sharply, too sharply, “And what about Margot? What was that for, Will?”

“I had sex with her for so long that night, never able to come, images of you with Alana haunting my mind until I started to dive into strange fantasies, puzzle pieces that couldn’t fit, you and me and Alana all in bed together, and Margot was beautiful and broken and sweet, but it was somehow...it was all about you, and I orgasmed just after I conjured the sight of you lingering by my fireplace in wendigo form, densely emotionless, untouchable, but the only one I could want, the only one who could give me the pleasure I craved.” 

“I’d lick it off of you and gulp it like a starving man in a desert, and I’d kill you over and over until you couldn’t move anymore, could barely summon breath, I’d want to ruin you and hear you thank me, beg for more,” Hannibal revealed, going to Will and grabbing his shirt collar, a burst of strength wrestling its way through his illness, the wendigo’s most threatening glare sharpening his features, making his high cheekbones, dark eyes and lush lips look purely divine, terrifyingly deep and poignant. 

“More would never be enough,” Will replied, giving into Hannibal’s rough hold on his shirt, moving forward automatically when his friend jerked him closer.

The doorbell chimed and they both panted, wide-eyed. “Ignore it,” Will pleaded.

“Dr. Lecter?” Jack Crawford’s voice intoned from outside the front door. “Are you home?”

“He sounds annoyed,” Will noted as he watched the anger at this interruption flickering in Hannibal’s caramel gaze.

Jack knocked on the door and then Hannibal’s phone rang with a call from their FBI supervisor. “What is going on today?” Crawford complained, his voice echoing as he waited out on the cold stoop.

“Get rid of him,” Will suggested malevolently, and Hannibal nodded, releasing Will to see to his visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference to Mitski's "I bet on losing dogs" is pretty obvious in this chapter ;) What a Hannigram anthem.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack did a double-take at the sight of Hannibal’s untidy hair and scant attire consisting only of his bathrobe and slippers. 

Hannibal sniffled dramatically, then cleared his throat and patted it. “Jack. What can I do for you?”

“Feeling under the weather today, Dr. Lecter? I’ve been trying to reach you all morning; we have some new forensic evidence on the Tier case. For that matter, I’ve been trying to reach Will, and _he’s_ nowhere to be found.”

“Please, do come in,” Hannibal beckoned. “How intriguing that you seem to consider me Will’s keeper, Jack, but I assure you I haven’t the least notion of his whereabouts. I’ve been quite unwell since yesterday.”

“Yes, I can see you’re sick, you look terrible,” Jack said matter-of-factly, turning his hat over between his hands, pacing around the front hall, too concerned with the case and his lingering suspicions over Hannibal and Will to notice that Hannibal’s previously calm face had hardened into a profound glare. 

_“Terrible?”_ How flagrantly insulting. Rude, in fact. Will was the only one allowed to say such things and live.

“Thank you. Now, if there’s nothing else?” Hannibal fought the urge to grab that heavy marble statue from the small table there and bash Jack’s prying, presumptuous brain to smithereens.

“Oh!” Jack gave him that fake smile again, the one with the coldly efficient facade of reassurance. The smile a hangman gives the criminal on the gallows. “Sure, I’ll get out of your hair. I was just concerned when the two of you went missing at such a key juncture in the case. You’ll let me know if you hear from Will?” 

“Absolutely, Jack. I’m sure we’ll both be back in tip-top form tomorrow.” 

After Jack left, Hannibal seethed momentarily, clasping his hands into fists and giving a brief shake of his head to dispel the pent-up murderous energy. 

“Did you forget to call in sick?” Will inquired flirtatiously, swaggering into view and leaning his back against the wall.

“I neglected to notify my psychiatric patients of my absence today as well. Something has made me awfully forgetful.”

“Something?” Will planted his hands on the wall to either side of his hips, drumming his fingers. 

“Someone,” Hannibal corrected himself, striding up to Will and stilling his fingers, pressing his bigger ones down to pin his friend. “Now, where were we?”

“You’re all riled up...is it some murderous version of blue balls?” Will quirked a brow, but his smirk disintegrated as Hannibal moved his hands, securing them to either side of Will’s head. “Hmm.” He looked Hannibal up and down, enjoyably intimidated and aroused by the fire in his eyes, the threatening set of his lips. “You wanted to kill Jack. What stopped you?”

“The next time I kill, I want you by my side,” Hannibal explained, leaning in to kiss Will’s neck.

He ran his tongue slowly down that beautiful slope of warm skin, then bit his way back up, each bite getting firmer as Will mewled and fidgeted in his grasp. Hannibal sucked down generously on the last, hardest bite, then muttered, “Do you want to be there with me, Will? Both of us covered in blood, the taste of the kill lingering on our tongues, staining our teeth and souls, free with ourselves, revealed, triumphant? Naked as we could possibly be before each others’ eyes?” 

“Y-yes,” Will admitted, his neck smarting, the coolness of the room singing over the damp skin already lonely without Hannibal’s mouth to devour it. His fingers wriggled again, longing to give vent to his needs, and he added, darkly wistful, “I want to _watch_ you kill.”

“And I…” Hannibal kissed his mouth, then bit and sucked his lower lip until Will’s erection strained hard inside his jeans. “I want to watch you. Carrying out your justice, demonstrating it, confessing to yourself and to me, how tremendously you enjoy doing bad things to bad people.”

“You’re a bad person,” Will responded as Hannibal released him only to undo the button of his jeans and ease the zipper down. 

He gave Hannibal those big, lost boy eyes, that chillingly innocent smile. “What should I do to you? What will you do to me?”

Hannibal slid his large, commanding hand down into the jeans and took hold of Will’s hotly bulging member, massaging, enjoying the ardent moans which fell from Will’s delectably over-kissed lips.

The doorbell chimed again and Will gave an awful sound, like a wolf howling when a fresh kill is ripped from his teeth.

“Whoever that is, I’m going to tear their throat out on sight,” Hannibal vowed, removing his hand from Will’s jeans with cold hatred in his deadset eyes. 

“I’ll just, go, into another room,” Will managed, obviously so overcome with his own case of blue balls that doing anything other than fucking required painful effort. 

He practically stumbled away as Hannibal tied his robe more snugly and appropriately and strode to the door, almost ripping it off the hinges. _”Yes?”_ he hissed.

Alana frowned at the cagey greeting. “Where have you been?” Her breath puffed into the frigid morning. “Where has _Will_ been?”

She pushed past Hannibal, delicately peeling off her gloves as she bore down on him with her unconvincing rage. Then she looked at him again, his flushed face, wet-slicked lips and mussed-up hair. “Is there someone else here with you?”

“We never really discussed monogamy, Alana,” Hannibal replied curtly. “However, I consider that a moot point. Sadly, our romantic liaisons are at an end.”

Alana huffed a frustrated breath, listening to the quiet house for a few beats, just barely missing the sound of Will’s sock-clad feet sneakily padding towards the bedroom.

“There _is_ someone else here. Is it Will?” She pursed her red lips and flipped her raven tresses over one shoulder.

“You’re really very good at that,” Hannibal smiled, some of his irritation ebbed away by amusement. “Using your charming little mannerisms to get what you want, keeping your hands immaculate no matter what messes you’re currently tip-toeing through for your own sense of intellectual entertainment and moral gratification. Remarkable, that you always stay so clean.”

Alana rolled her wide blue eyes. “Fuck you, Hannibal.”

“I don’t think so. And really, you should take the compliment, Alana. It takes one to know one, and your skills at getting what you want are truly formidable. I don’t think it will take you long to find a new recipient for your insipidly selfish antics.”

“_I’m_ insipidly selfish?” She glowered. 

“It takes one to know one,” he winked. “Now please, if you know what is good for you, accept the compliment, as it is the last thing I have to offer you, aside from further interactions which you would not enjoy, and which I personally do not care to waste my energy on at this moment. You may leave the same way you came.”

“Did you just _threaten_ me? I knew something was off with you, and off with Will, too, since he was released and you two started gallivanting around like you were joined at the hip again. Just tell me where Will is, and if he’s okay. Did you do something to him?”

“Yes,” Hannibal acknowledged smugly. “I’m afraid that at present he’s quite incapacitated, destined to become more so as the day wears on. But don’t worry, he’s perfectly safe in my care.”

“So he’s had some kind of breakdown and you’ve appointed yourself his savior?” Alana frowned as Hannibal repressed a laugh.

“It’s ever so amusing to me that from the admission I just provided, you are so fixated on both of us being desperately besotted with you that you’ve entirely missed the bold-faced truth which couldn’t be much more obvious. But yes, let us go with that version of the story for now. I’ll take very good care of Will, rest assured.”

“This isn’t over,” Alana maintained blandly, wrenching the door open. "I don't trust your friendship with Will...it feels manipulative and destructive. I'm taking my concerns to Jack in the hope he'll exclude you from future investigations and join me in advising Will to keep his distance."

“Enjoy your indignation, Alana. I hope it keeps you warm now that I won’t be doing so.” He smiled and closed the door, then deadbolted it, pausing when he unexpectedly heard another voice outside.

“Is he home? Dr. Lecter?” Margot’s voice, slinky and curious. “I was supposed to have an appointment at his office this morning, but he never showed up.”

“He’s home...out sick for the day,” Alana replied, her irritation gradually morphing into intrigue as she took in the sight of Margot. 

Hannibal watched through the window as she extended her dainty hand to Margot’s and gave her a “who the hell are _you_?” look.

“Alana Bloom,” she said as they shook hands, letting the contact linger. 

“Margot Verger. You know, Hannibal wasn’t at his office, but Will Graham’s car was.” Her tone was coy, making it clear that both women were by now more interested in each other than anyone else they’d been looking for.

“Typical,” Alana chuckled. “You wanna go for coffee?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Hannibal laughed softly, pleased that there was very little reason to expect he and Will would be disturbed again today.

He deadbolted the door and eagerly strode to the bedroom, invigorated by the hearty breakfast and this new happiness with his love. 

But when he reached his private quarters, only to find Will lying naked on the bed, slowly stroking his cock and leveling Hannibal with a mischievous smirk, Hannibal’s heart squeezed, every drop of blood in him seeming to rush straight between his legs.

“Did you tell your girlfriend to get lost?” Will inquired lightly, the shameless tone in his voice sending shivers through Hannibal.

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore.” Hannibal smiled, the perfect image of the devil as he watched Will’s lovely hand pumping more firmly around his rigid shaft.

There was so much of Will displayed openly before him that Hannibal realized with new clarity how their previous encounters had him fixating with Victorian ardor on stolen details, such as frequent glances at Will’s neck and the pulsing that always seemed to happen there in his presence, making him wonder how Will might like to be kissed there, bitten, sucked and marked. Then there were Will’s forearms peeking out from rolled-up sleeves, distracting Hannibal with ideas of how he would make the fine hairs stand on end with a single brush of one finger, thinking about the noise the fabric of Will’s shirts would make when Hannibal lost control and ripped them open with a heated snarl.

But now Will was...open-mouthed, face tipped up to heaven, not seeking redemption for this desire but just the chance to indulge it before consequences arrived. Bare, sculpted chest, nipples hard and stomach straining, that lovely throat gulping down a ragged breath as he panted, free hand twisting the sheets, “I like you watching me. I always have.”

“What are you doing to me?” Hannibal wondered, staring in astonishment as Will gave another soft, jagged little moan.

“Just...don’t be afraid of it anymore, whatever it is. It’s _ours._ Come here.”

Hannibal let his robe fall to the floor and smiled at the way Will gasped and stroked himself faster as the sight of his love’s rough, brutally elegant, naked body filled his eyes.

He climbed between Will’s legs, ducked his head and set Will’s hand aside, taking his cock into his mouth, sucking deep and hard, then licking with a broadly soft tongue, urged on by Will’s hands in his hair, tugging. 

He let Will’s cock tip brush the back of his throat and then pop slightly back out again, lavished by his relentless tongue, his head bobbing intently back and forth until Will cried out, as if he’d been stabbed or ravaged, startled and pained by excessive pleasure. His body tensed up just before his cock spilt thick ribbons of sweetly copious cum right down Hannibal’s throat. 

Hannibal sighed, lapping up every spare drop, adoring the salty heat of Will’s arousal, the danger-tainted scent of the cum filling the air between them, and with a resounding gulp he removed his mouth, looking up at Will’s astounded face.

“S-so much cum,” Will shuddered. “I guess after all that waiting and wanting, I should have expected it to be like this, but…”

“_Baby_,” Hannibal soothed, hovering over Will and cupping his precious face. “My baby.”

“Yes.” Will licked and sucked Hannibal’s thumb when his lover inserted it into his softly enticing mouth, but his teeth were razors, grazing and pinching, and Hannibal groaned as his erection pulsed untouched.

“I love your mouth,” he said worshipfully, tracing Will’s lips, spreading them with possessive fervor. 

“So use it,” Will begged, sliding his hands under the pillow and gazing up invitingly. “Use me all up.”

Hannibal nodded, gripping Will’s face harder, spreading his hand to pinch that hauntingly beautiful face on both sides, watching the skin cave and press in under his touch, Will’s eyes, once unknowably aloof, now open and trusting.

“Good boy. Stay right there.” Hannibal moved up the bed to line his cock up to Will’s waiting mouth.

“So big,” Will marveled, getting hard again himself at the sight of it, the wanton depravity of their positions. 

“Something else we have in common,” Hannibal smiled, sliding his erection into Will’s hot, wet, sweet mouth, settling into place with his hands holding Will’s head steady, his hips beginning to rock, biceps flexing as he stroked in and out, Will’s tongue laving him just a few times before he let Hannibal fuck his mouth hard and deep, with long, dominating thrusts.

He knew the mere sight of Will wanting this, getting harder because of this would have been quite enough to make him come, but the perfect encircling of Will’s clever lips around his throbbing arousal damned his ability to hold out. 

As he came with an animal grunt, he pulled out intentionally, splattering his seed all over Will’s lips, caking his stubble with it as Will got his breath back in time to dip two fingers into the mess on his face and slurp with hungry abandon, eyes still locked with Hannibal’s, his beautiful chest rising and falling in frantic craving for more. Knowing exactly how to get what he wanted, he smiled angelically and simply murmured, “Mmmm.”

...Or at least that’s how Hannibal had imagined this very scene in his head at least a hundred times. Now, however, he was still standing in the doorway, holding onto either side of it for dear life. A wave of exhaustion had knocked him over by the time he’d made the embarrassingly short journey from the door to the bedroom, and now he wavered there, his sinuses screaming at him for not resting, his greedy eyes taking in the sight of Will. The craving, which Hannibal had already assumed was bottomless, deepened. Yet he was unable to properly greet this gorgeous show of excellent behavior.

“I know,” Will smirked, lazily roving his hand up and down his length. “You’re too tired to participate. You’re not well, Dr. Lecter, though to be fair, you never have been. This is just a sneak preview.”

“A treat?” Hannibal ventured. He wanted to believe he strode swiftly to the bed, but it was honestly more of a clamber.

Lying beside Will, he smiled ironically. “A tease?”

“No,” Will insisted, voice getting a bit breathier as he watched Hannibal’s excited, overwhelmed face, and the sight of this made his hand begin moving faster over his arousal, his thumb sweeping the tip, a gasp escaping his pretty lips as his cock was slickened with pre-cum. “A twist.”

“Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?” Hannibal smiled, enjoying this torment as much as Will had hoped. 

“I’ve...ahh--” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as the pleasure started to mount within him, and then he opened them to face Hannibal with a whispered plea. “Tell me.”

“You naughty boy. I want the very same thing I have wanted from the first time I saw you. I want to swallow you. Whole.” 

Hannibal reached out to curve his hand around Will’s face, stroking over the softly spiky beard, sweeping down and pressing into the luxurious, unforgettably perfect bottom lip, housing such a scrumptiously languid tongue, curling around Will’s breathy sighs and several mentions of Hannibal’s name, starting out sure and strong, then devolving into a whimper, ending on a shout that was almost a sob when Will came, spurting all over his greedy hand while his free one was perhaps even more honest, slamming down on top of Hannibal’s fingers, scooping them up in a sweating, demanding grip, squeezing.

“Say it, tell me again,” Will gulped, not caring about the sticky mess all over his cock and stomach as he rolled over to face Hannibal, breathing hard against his friend’s mouth. Wasn’t Hannibal supposed to be his enemy? God, who was counting?

Hannibal’s devilish smile tweaked higher as he exhaled in deep satisfaction -- or more accurately, the satisfaction which comes with a sneak preview well-played. He could only be satisfied with this unthinkably sultry display if he truly believed Will would let him play, too, next time. And from the desperation in Will’s eyes, he was finally sure.

“Please,” Will muttered, leaning in to whisper in Hannibal’s ear. “Call me your naughty boy.”

“You’re worse than naughty,” Hannibal affirmed, so happy that he was absolutely terrified of continuing to live on past this moment, because what else could really compare? Could he even withstand a joy that went beyond this? But he could not resist wanting more, more than he could ever deserve, and therefore as much as he could possibly take. “You’re relentless. And inciting.”

Will nodded shakily, then extricated himself from Hannibal’s hold as if he needed to breathe free for a few moments. He went to the bathroom and came back with clean skin and a conscience as conflicted and sullied as ever. Compromised, and more than that. Claimed. And given freely.

Hannibal found that in those few minutes of Will’s absence, his heart had swollen to a threatening degree, picturing Will standing before the bathroom mirror thinking about why he had just done that, and what he should do next. Should he come back? Keep doing that...or run until the saccharine horizon offered him some hazy illusion of redemption?

_Don’t leave me_, Hannibal cried out in his thoughts, unshed tears soaking his soul until he thought no one could squeeze it dry. He’d simply drown there, without regret, a special treatment only his finest patient could bestow. Every dose of soberingly threatening, even pathetic imagery about this love only made him want to cling to Will for safety. It was getting harder to imagine scenarios of murdering this love to free himself, harder to want to.

Aloud, he said, voice honey-thick as Will accepted his embrace, sank against his hotly heavy body on the bed, spooning up in front of him, “Yes, you are mine. My naughty boy, Will.”

Will moaned softly at the words, nestling himself into Hannibal, until they felt locked. It was like Will was a puzzle piece which had been lost long ago from the wrong set, assuming there was no match for him waiting in the future, only a life of wondering why he had been made this way, so specific, so perfectly wrong, only to languish in the obscurity of the purest, coldest solitude. But with Hannibal, that was all over. With Hannibal, he fit.

“Have you forgiven me?” Hannibal asked huskily, his arm planted on Will’s raging heart, a simple but effective lie detector.

“For...for everything? For every_one_?” Will shook his head as his heart sank. Memories of selfish, cruel carnage that would only reassert the divide between them manifested in his eyes, sad clouds of blood rendered blue. “No. I don’t think I’m capable of that kind of forgiveness.”

“You’re only human, after all.” 

Will lifted Hannibal’s hand and examined it carefully, then opened the fingers, easily guided by his touch like bruised rose petals surrendering, and kissed Hannibal’s palm, eliciting a low groan. He licked along the lifeline, then rubbed his nose into Hannibal’s hand, followed by his cheek.

“I’m afraid one of the most incontrovertible truths I’ve gathered from knowing you is that love has nothing to do with forgiveness.” Will spoke softly, although his words were firm and certain, his mouth gently traveling over each of Hannibal’s fingertips until he nipped one pad and sucked, humming in guilty pleasure as his friend sighed and lightly bucked his hips against him.

“Perhaps my illness has been a blessing in disguise,” Hannibal considered. “Without it, I might never have let my guard down enough to have that heart-to-heart which brought us, eventually, here. And without it, I might not have slowed my fervor for you enough to enjoy the savoring.”

“I hope to feel them both,” Will smiled, shifting to face Hannibal again, gliding his knuckles down his torso, unknotting the robe and massaging over Hannibal’s stomach, down to his hip. “Your restraint, and the breaking of it. I hope to repeat the cycle with you many times.”

“Said the fragile little teacup,” Hannibal teased, making Will chuckle, eyes wet with tears, caught between sadness and rapture.

“Said the fragile little teacup,” Will retorted with a tragicomical pout. “You need more medicine.”

Hannibal groaned a different way this time, with defiance. “No. I’ll just sleep through the remainder of my ailment.” 

“Yes, you will. That’s one of the wonderful benefits of taking your medicine.” Will slid out from Hannibal’s hold and returned shortly with another round of dreaded liquigel relief and a glass of water.

“Ugh,” Hannibal grumbled, sitting up and swallowing the tablets as Will cradled the back of his head. “You are merely attempting to provoke another confession out of me.”

“I don’t need over-the-counter cold medicine to do that anymore, Hannibal.” Will guided him to lie back down with his head propped by an extra pillow, then snuggled up with his head resting on Hannibal’s heart. “Although I am amused at how susceptible you are to it.”

“Humph.” Hannibal embraced Will and frowned into his hair as the smell of it bewitched him. There were notes of avocado oil...plum and fig, and he guessed Will had been using a finer shampoo along with his recent penchant for more dapper apparel. But always that same wretched aftershave, much to Hannibal's affectionate faux-chagrin.

“Hmm,” Will murmured, then gave a self-conscious chuckle, his cheek getting warmer against Hannibal’s chest.

“What is it?”

“Your chest hair is tickling my nose.” Will smiled, trying to allow himself this dreamy respite of togetherness, but there was a hesitation still nagging his conscience.

The memory of who he’d thought he was, in his own small, modest way a hero, the one who _stopped_ killers, and even if it was by now only a lie born of nurture's obligation -- how could he forgive _himself_ if he let it go completely? How could he absolve his soul of the inevitable consequence of such change? He was afraid he knew what he would become, had always known.

Hannibal knew there could be no peace between them until the restlessness was resolved, only this wonderful truce with its expiration date stamped clearly on both their hearts. But his head started to get heavy and fogged again, and he laughed too, gently, his breath swaying Will’s luscious curls beneath his lips.

“What?” Will asked, drawn out of his ethical crisis in that way Hannibal had of making him forget such regrettably essential considerations. In wry amusement he glanced up at Hannibal, who shook his head.

“It’s only that…” Hannibal roved his hand through Will’s hair, the movement sluggish, yet thrilled. His voice had already slurred from the pills. “It is _so_ soft...even more than I imagined...”

Another reflective, bashful, flattered chortle. “Go to sleep, Hannibal.”

“Where will you be when I wake this time?” The fear lilting through the happiness was palpable.

“I suppose I’ll have to go into Quantico, smooth things over with Jack, finish off the Tier case. Cover the aftermath of _us._ Go and tend to the dogs, and then I’ll come back and see how you are.”

“And then you’ll decide, based on my condition, how to act next? What to do about me?” Hannibal closed his eyes, half-wishing he never had to get well if it meant facing reality.

“Yeah, I will. And you will decide what you are going to do about me.”

“This…” Hannibal yawned, tightening his hold on Will and rubbing his cheek more deeply into that mop of curls. “...is most certainly _not_ the reckoning you promised me.”

“All things in time,” Will promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Renata T./@emergency trap for posting all those lovely gif sets which helped inspire one aspect of this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

When he stopped home to feed the dogs early that evening, Will was surprised to see Hannibal waiting there for him, his car neatly parked in the drive, and Will remembered that he’d never asked his friend for the housekey back which he’d lent him ages ago.

“Honey, I’m home,” he cracked, coming inside with one hand ready to fly to his holster. He had no real way of knowing what Hannibal wanted to take from him, his love or his life.

But the dogs roamed to him contentedly, and a quick glance around the room revealed a cozy scene, from the flames crackling in the fireplace to the smell of something sweet and spicy cooking, cumin, cardamon and jalapeno intertwined. Hannibal stepped out from the kitchen area with his apron on and shot Will a coy look. 

“I wanted to surprise you.” His lush lips curved subtly as the sight of Will nourished him, doused him in dangerous hopes.

“You’re looking very refreshed,” Will remarked, going to Hannibal and caressing his cheek as his love's eyes drifted closed. 

“I’m feeling better,” Hannibal acknowledged, “Thanks to your excellent care. I wanted to return the favor by cooking for you.” 

He brushed his lips to Will’s in a brief, teasing kiss, the first kiss he’d given that seemed...habitual. Natural and domestic. As if to say, _you are home now, darling, after your long day of work. Won’t you go and put up your feet, let me see to dinner?_

Will supposed he should be worried about whether Jack had fully bought his story of still working to bring Hannibal down, or whether he believed it himself anymore, but right now all he could really see was Hannibal, at home in his space, not seeming at all thrown off by the scruffy environs. 

“Hmm. You’ll take any excuse to cook for me.” Will smirked adoringly and slid one firm finger down Hannibal’s spine, infatuated with the way his lover shivered at the touch. 

It continually amazed him that he could hold an equal amount of power over this man who had intimidated him as a seemingly undefeatable antagonist. The worst enemy Will could ever have, one it was impossible to hate. Love just kept swallowing the hate until he was exhausted from fighting the feeling.

“You work hard, baby. I like to take care of you.” Hannibal knew exactly what he was doing, fuelling Will’s arousing fantasy, and finding it all too easy to do so since it was one of his own favorite concepts as well.

“You make the most perfect house husband, Hannibal.” Will dipped a finger into the bowl of sauce cradled in Hannibal’s hands, finding that it held a fiery mango taste. His eyes were big and falsely innocent as he played with his love’s restraint: “Mmm.”

“Naughty boy,” Hannibal smiled at the sinful implication. “Sticking your fingers in like that. Where are your manners?”

Will took the bowl from Hannibal and set it on the counter, a devilish glint in his eyes. “I’m willing to accept the consequences of my misbehavior, daddy.”

“I believe this is what is known as ‘pulling out all the stops,’ William.” Sternly, Hannibal removed the apron and set it aside, almost glaring at Will. “Are you quite sure you are ready? You don’t feel any symptoms suggesting you’ve caught my cold? I cannot exact my most thorough discipline upon you unless you are at your full strength.”

Will blinked steadily, although the pulse in his throat intensified at Hannibal’s words. “I’m perfectly fine, if a bit tired from work. I’ll admit that seeing you here has given me a fresh jolt of energy, though. It seems like I’ve just got an amazing immune system. Stronger than some people’s, apparently, despite the way _some people_ believe they’re above all human frailty.”

”And what about the encephalitis? That felt vulnerable.”

”A rare glitch. I’m sure I will be absolutely fine as long as I am properly tended to. Otherwise, I might get a bit impatient.”

Hannibal gave the world’s most miniscule nod to match his mysterious, reined-in smile, then went to shut off the stove, shifting the cast-iron skillet to a cool burner and covering the steaming array of chicken and vegetables with the glass lid. Will admired the fluid, insistently organized movements of his body in the white shirt lightly lined in blue, paired with slate blue trousers, an outfit showing he was back on sartorial form, but with the shirt collar left open to reveal his beautiful throat and just the tiniest tease of his chest, the overall impression being one of contented intimacy. 

Casually, Will opted to let the dogs out.

“You’ve earned a reckoning of your own,” Hannibal announced, shattering the illusion of his almighty reserve, yanking Will’s shirt and urging him onto the bed. 

Playfully, Will scrambled up from his face-down position, kicking off his boots as Hannibal joined him, driving greedy fingers into his hair and tugging hard, their lips colliding, Hannibal’s powerful body hard and unrelenting, weight pressing into Will’s softly open posture where he welcomed him in, between his legs, clothed grinding soon making them each groan in delighted frustration.

“I’m going to bite down every single inch of your body and then fuck you until you beg for mercy,” Hannibal growled in Will’s ear. “And then you’re going to sit and eat your dinner like a good boy, and then I’m going to fuck you even harder.”

“Yes,” Will nodded jerkily, “Please. It’s exactly what I need. I--” 

He blinked against stars as an overwhelming nausea and disorientation swept through him. 

“Oh, no.”

Hannibal paused in his aggression, examining Will’s suddenly pale face and then kissing his mouth softly. “What is it?”

“I--” Will sat up, gently easing Hannibal off of him and grabbing in a panic for the small wastebasket by the side of the bed. 

He barely got the basket to his mouth before he was vomiting into it.

“That is not the reaction I usually get,” Hannibal remarked calmly. 

His only other response was to leave the room, returning with a cool, damp cloth. Will shuddered, accepting the cloth to dab at his mouth, and when he dared to meet Hannibal’s eyes again he found them not disappointed or annoyed, but glimmering in affectionate amusement.

“What’s this all about, Will?” He sat beside his love and rubbed Will’s back, observing the sweat on his brow and the drained look on his face with concern.

“You’re ne-never gonna let me live this down,” Will said with a rueful smile more like a twitch. “When I first start coming down with a cold, I always get sick to my stomach.”

“I see. And what happened to your famously impervious constitution?” 

“God, will you shut the fuck up? And...help me to the bathroom?”

Leaning heavily on Hannibal, he made it to the sink, where he could wash up and brush his teeth.

“I’m sorry about dinner, it looked amazing. And sorry about...well, you know.” Will blushed as Hannibal assisted him back to bed. “I feel like I ruined our night.”

“Don’t be absurd, Will.” Hannibal took off Will’s clothes, except for his boxers, and pulled down the blanket, nodding for him to get in. “It’s only because you took such wonderful care of me that you’re ill yourself. I hope you’ll allow me to look after you, too, and believe me when I say I can wait for you, most happily, and that merely being in your presence is enough to bring me incomparable enjoyment.”

“It seems strange that I should feel so humbled by the way you love me.” Will closed his eyes, curling up on his side and hoping the room would stop spinning, that his stomach would calm down. “After how thoroughly you've torn my life to shreds. Still, I’m grateful that you’re here. I'm lost with you; I’d be lost without you.”

“Everything I did, I did to lay the foundation of our future, but that doesn’t mean I’ve no regrets.” Hannibal climbed onto the bed and Will nudged himself over to rest his head on his friend’s lap, Hannibal’s fingers gliding through his hair, then massaging over his back. “Sleep now.”

Will’s stomach ailment had passed by morning, leaving in its wake the same annoyingly incapacitating cold from which Hannibal had freshly recovered. And Hannibal took care of calling Jack to say that Will wouldn’t be at work today. He fed and let out the dogs, then carefully cracked a few windows to let in a bit of fresh air, only for a short while before closing them lest it get too chilly. 

“I suppose I shouldn’t bother telling you what is in the soup,” Hannibal remarked, helping Will to sit up in bed so that he could ladle the restorative meal into his mouth. 

He blew on the soup, distracted by the wonderment in Will’s face which shifted into shared amusement.

“I wouldn’t want you to think I don’t appreciate your etymological speeches or your spiels on the cultural origins of literally every tiny ingredient in every single meal you serve me.” 

A wry smirk. “Open up, Will.” 

Will swallowed the soup, feeling it open his sinuses and soothe his throat. “Mmm. Thank you, this is perfect, really.”

“I know.” Hannibal acknowledged smugly, earning a groan and an eyeroll. 

He fed Will the rest of the soup, then they settled back in with Will’s head nestled in his lap, this time a book poised in Hannibal’s hands, his voice landing deeply rich on every word and smoothing over it like a caress meant only for Will.

The book was _Maurice_ by E.M. Forster, pulled from Will’s shelves which Hannibal had already thoroughly reviewed on his previous visit, the story a suitable choice for two men desperately in love with each other. Perhaps he had chosen it as well because against all conceivable odds, it had a happy ending.

_“‘Did you ever dream you had a friend, Alec? Someone to last your whole life and you his. I suppose such a thing can’t really happen outside sleep.’” _

Will sighed and nuzzled into Hannibal, reveling in the sweet calm of his voice, the easy, firm rove of his touch. He could stay here forever, couldn’t he? Breathing in that elegant cologne, rubbing his cheek on expensive suit pants over warm, firm skin, just…_stay_. If he just let this be a dream, if he just ignored the necessity of waking.

“Hannibal…” Will looked up at him in awe as some mad, unearned sense of guilt racked his soul. “I have to tell you something.”

He slid a bookmark into place and closed the worn volume thoughtfully. “You should be resting your voice.”

“It’s true, I was going to trick you, betray you...lure you close to me and yank the rug out from under you right when you got comfortable. I was going to see you put behind bars, Hannibal. It’s all I’ve been working towards since the day I was released.”

“I would imagine you were planning it earlier than that,” Hannibal posited. He dropped his hand from Will’s hair, but otherwise remained calm, setting the book aside and casting Will an expectant glance, mildly reproving.

“Wouldn’t you?” Will coughed and pulled himself up with effort, feeling incredibly stupid all of a sudden, sitting there in his underwear now that Hannibal didn’t even want to touch him anymore. He stared down at his dumb hand perched on his idiotic knee and frowned, “If I’d hurt you like that, killed people you loved and shoved you behind bars, away from me, I might add, what other recourse would you seek?”

“I handled things poorly. I didn’t realize the immensity of my mistake until you were gone and I had to try and live without you. It was then I realized I didn’t want the safety of my solitude, that I was willing to choose the peril of trusting you instead, the risk of losing my self control to that irretrievable extent. It’s gone forever by now, wrested in your grip. I wonder what you plan to use it for, if not to enact your clever little plot with Jack.”

Hannibal folded his hands over one knee and Will grimaced, sniffling, then blowing his nose and turning back to face him with fresh consternation.

“You handled things _poorly_?” Will tried to get up, but Hannibal shook his head, leaving the bed himself.

“I see we are doing this now. Very well; at least remain in bed since you can barely function.” He stood neatly to one side of the bed as Will begrudgingly climbed back on, crossing his arms across his chest, shivering and sweating, his brain feeling on fire again -- not from illness this time but some insidious lovesickness, the life-ruining kind. But without Hannibal, would he really be _living_? Or just surviving?

“As a sidebar, I wish you would invest in a proper bed, or else allow me to procure one for you.” Hannibal looked down accusingly at the glorified cot, then prodded the thin mattress with his fingertips. “This current arrangement feels like you are punishing yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I’m good at that, right?” Will slicked a hand through his damp curls. “That’s clearly why I fell in love with you.”

“Will.” Hannibal came back to him, crawling across the creaky bedsprings to cage Will between his arms, planting his palms on the mattress to either side of Will’s hips. 

Although the posture was in one sense dominating, enclosing Will within Hannibal’s space, it was submissive because Hannibal placed himself below Will, his eyes glinting from mahogany to red in the warm lamp-glow. 

“Please, don’t…” Will said feebly, shifting only slightly on the sheets, wanting to hate this moment. 

He called upon every ounce of his previous dislike of physically feeling trapped or pressured to make him fight back, but despite the ludicrously inappropriate violation of Hannibal’s tenderness, it set his heart on fire with need and some twisted sort of gratitude. It was absurd, but Will realized he really was sorry for trying to double-cross Hannibal, no matter how thoroughly well-earned it was and no matter how utterly pathetic Hannibal’s growing collection of wan apologies. The fact remained that they loved each other so much that it superseded everything else, and there didn’t seem to be a damn thing Will could do about that.

“I know I have no right to ask it, but please, Will, say you love me again. No matter what else happens between us, no matter what sort of vengeance or forgiveness may finally feel right for you, let me know it now. I’ll place your precious imago within the deepest chamber of my memory palace, the one closest to my heart, I’ll shelter the memory in the echo of your voice saying those words, and I will have a place to go wherever else I may be, a place to rest in the memory of pure, if ultimately untouchable, bliss.” 

Hannibal drew back slightly and Will glared down at him as if from on high.

“You put yourself at my mercy now, when I’m weak, but you wouldn’t do that otherwise.”

“You confess your lies and manipulation to me now, when you are weak, but you wouldn’t do so otherwise. Do you expect me to put you out of your misery, Will? Are you brave enough now to risk my wrath because you don’t have the strength at present to fight your morally dignified corner?” Hannibal licked his lips. “Don’t expect me to make it that easy for you.”

“My misery? Ha, you’re my misery, my burden. My distraction and my despair.” Will lifted a shaky hand to caress Hannibal’s face as his friend closed his eyes and leaned into his touch, his own kind of gratitude. “My guide and my inspiration, my passion.” He shook his head, watching as Hannibal’s eyes reopened in silently eager expectation. 

“My love,” Will added. He tilted his head to one side, thinking more deeply on the subject as another quote from Maurice recurred to his mind: _“‘I think you’re beautiful, the only beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I love your voice and everything to do with you, down to your clothes or the room you are sitting in. I adore you.’”_

Hannibal’s throat bobbed as his eyes glistened, not daring yet to claim the kiss he yearned for as his heart swelled painfully. 

“You’re docile, trying to show me you respect my boundaries now. But you know I don’t believe you’ll continue to do that,” Will noted, letting out a shaky exhale in the aftermath of saying those heavy words, letting them out into the world at last, evicted from his own memory palace but destined to leave behind a ghostly twin, the echo whispering and cackling, shouting, screaming and muttering, carving the words out in grotesque blood-black self-sabotage into every single wall. 

The words twisted and wound around the corridors, scarring Will’s inner world, triumphing and weeping over the phrase, _I love you, Hannibal_ until every other notion he’d understood in his life paled in utter insignificance, forgotten traces of useless ephemera like morality and decency and _peace_. The only place he could breathe now was trapped in euphoric dread.

“I suppose I won’t be able to respect your boundaries entirely--”

“No, you won’t.” Will wanted to snap the words, but they came out a blur of affectionate grief. “You’re far too curious. Eventually you’ll play with me again because I am your favorite toy. You love me so much that you won’t throw me away once I’m worn out; you’ll just nurse me back until you can tear me apart all over again. By the time I do die, whether by your hand or as a result of knowing you, because let’s face it, those are my options -- there will be nothing left of me but the beleaguered, compromised pulp you make of me. And you’ll weep over it, but it will be too late because I’ll be gone, and now, Hannibal. What’s to be done about that?”

“For now, may I suggest tea?” Hannibal kissed Will’s cheek, then drew back as Will stared after him. 

His throat was killing him, between the tears and being sick, and so after staring blankly at the walls, petting the dogs when they came and sat around him like so many bundles of sweetly blinking kindness, he had to admit he could really use the tea. He couldn’t muster a laugh as Buster hopped up to lick his face, only something more like a muffled sob. The dogs’ innocence usually brought him peace, but now they just reminded him of a simplicity, a sense of right and good which he’d already left miles behind him in the dust of his former life. He was still home, but home wasn’t here anymore; it was with Hannibal, wherever he led, into any darkness. Will scratched Winston’s back and ran his other hand through Buster’s fur, thinking he could keep the dogs but he could never have back the man he was when he adopted them. 

“Do you think you don’t deserve to be happy?” Hannibal asked, his voice deceptively light as he passed the teacup to Will.

Will sat up straighter and blew into the steaming cup, then breathed in the soothing, sweet but earthy scent of green tea. He picked up the teaspoon and swirled the dollop of raw honey around before taking a sip. It did his body good to lie here, coddled and cared for, the dogs curled up around him, and Hannibal showing perfect tolerance of their furry, spitty presence, Hannibal sturdily present, not lashing out or running away as Will had half-hoped after admitting his plan. It felt so unbelievably good, physically and emotionally, to just give in. But he still didn’t know if he ever could, fully.

“I think I used to,” Will mused. “Now it’s a choice between my better angels and, well, you --” He sipped his tea again, letting it coat his throat and warm the chills still coursing over his skin and bones, like his body was trying to siphon off the anguish within him but all the sweat, tears and shivers in the world wouldn’t properly express it, get it out, let it all go. “You, the devil on my shoulder.”

“The devil on your shoulder, Will, or the sound of your own desires, the sight of them reflected more honestly than you care to see them? Whatever else I am guilty of, my intent has only ever been to bring you to what you need, to guide you to me so that I could give it to you.” Hannibal ceded proximity to the dogs and settled near the end of the bed, causing Will to lift his brows.

“You’re annoyingly sensible today. Vain, pompous and unforgivable as always, but so damn sensible I’d like to lob the whole collected works of E.M. Forster at your head.”

Hannibal chortled. “At least you didn’t opt for Tolstoy’s complete works.”

“Shut up,” Will retorted, gliding his foot under the sheet past the dogs to nudge Hannibal’s thigh. “It would be so much better to hate you. Better for me, better for everyone else.”

“Don’t sell us short until you give us a real try, Will. I have surprised you before; do you find it so impossible I may exceed your preconceived notions of what I would be like as a partner?”

“I thoroughly expect you would be far too much for me to handle in all of the best and worst ways, many of which I cannot presently fathom. And I’d love to return the favor, keep you on your toes. You’re my favorite cliffhanger ending.”

“For better or worse,” Hannibal affirmed. “What if we make a new plan? Leave here, once you are fully convalesced, take as many dogs as may reasonably fit onto a plane--”

Will picked up the book and tossed it at Hannibal, who caught it with a cheeky smile. “Leave notes for Jack and Alana. Never see either of them again.”

“Start over again somewhere with you? Do you think we’d ever really be able to make that work?” 

“Have a little faith in us, Will. You’ve lost your old religion, but you’re sure to crave the satiation of true belief.”

“Heh.” Will scratched behind Buster’s ears and heaved a sigh. “Now you want to be my god?”

“You rule my destiny, you've upended my life as much as I have yours. Does it make it any more acceptable to know that you are my god as well?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song "Toes" by Lights inspired the bit of dialogue about cliffhanger endings <3
> 
> Oh! And don't worry, Will and Hannibal will both be in good health for the next chapter, lol -- no more of that to hold them back!


	5. Chapter 5

“You have a date with Hannibal tonight?” Jack asked, giving Will a pointed look.

They sat in his office after Will had stopped by to help alleviate Alana’s tension over the whole dog and pony show, which could only finally be done by revealing that Freddie was alive. Once Alana departed, Jack’s feigned confidence in Will’s plan fell apart like the battered pretense of quasi-parental faith it had been.

“An appointment,” Will corrected smoothly. A smile played about his lips, along with a slight blush he could do nothing to abate.  
He could hardly wait to get to Hannibal. Soon, Jack, Alana, Freddie, Chilton, and everyone else associated with this old and increasingly asinine life would be left to wonder what ever happened to them. Perhaps not to wonder for long…

Anything Will cared about, he was taking with him on the journey.

A pleasurable chill traipsed down his spine at the thought that they could run away together, but they would surely garner a certain reputation everywhere they went. Hannibal’s appetites were legend, and he was bringing out the same in Will. Would they be ghosts, feared but never quite seen by anyone but each other, or by their victims, but far too late? He’d love to haunt the world with Hannibal. Obviously, it was an ambitious burst of self-aware delusion to believe they would go long without being caught. Will would like to think they would balance each other, but chances were just as likely they would heighten each other’s hunger until they simply could not stop.

Jack bristled. “Hmm. You’re having enough of these little _appointments_ that I expect to see results soon, or I’m calling off this entire play. We are this close to being shut down, losing our badges, and then we won’t be able to catch him.” He pinched the air to represent their proximity to danger, and Will swallowed a dark laugh.

“Oh, I don’t need a badge to catch Hannibal, Jack. Not when I have him right where I want him.” He stood and checked his watch, his heart skipping a beat and sending a ripple of anticipation through him that damn near put a skip in his step, as if he was a schoolboy with a massive crush on his teacher. 

He had so very much to learn from Hannibal.

“And now if you’ll excuse me, I really can’t afford to be late,” Will concluded, leaving the exhausted Jack gaping as he strolled off as if he had the world on a string.

“What an intriguing meal you’ve prepared,” Will smiled, running his finger around the rim of his champagne glass. He spread his lips tauntingly and took a sip, letting the cold, frothy drink glide down in a satisfying gulp.

Hannibal watched the movement in Will’s throat with great interest. His smile was radiant as he elaborated, “Before we leave this life, I plan to take this weekend just for the two of us. I want to spoil you, put you in the lap of luxury where you belong.”

Had he patted his own lap, he couldn’t have been anymore cheesily obvious, but Will loved his voracious flirtation, loved the layers of Hannibal’s reserve falling away like dead skin, leaving him open to Will and anything Will might desire of him. He could most likely get the drop on Hannibal anytime now, tempt him into a bragging confession in a post-coital embrace, coax him into a murder just to have Jack waiting to pounce, but the idea had lost its vital immediacy, his sense of its necessity. For once in his life, he was being selfish, and it felt so fucking amazing that he didn’t want to stop or look down from the dizzying heights he soared to with Hannibal, whether or not the sun was sure to melt their wings of feathers and wax. They’d plummet, but they’d never let go of each other, and that was all that seemed to matter anymore.

“You want to pamper me with...champagne, chili-rubbed steak, stuffed figs…” Will sliced into his steak and watched the red juices seep enticingly. “Is there a theme at work here?”

“All well-known aphrodisiacs. It’s not that I think you need help with stamina, but I did like the idea of being obvious about wanting you tonight.”

Jesus. Hannibal’s refined but shameless voice was doing a number on Will, gliding over his thoughts like pure silk, stiffening and tensing his body 

“You’re plying me.”

“Is it necessary?”

“No. You can have me anyway you want.”

“Excellent. That’s exactly what I had planned. Now, please do enjoy your meal, and what is sure to be your last opportunity to sit comfortably for quite some time.”

“Do you ever listen to yourself when you talk?” Will laughed, the sound husky to match the helpless flush in his cheeks.

“Never mind, I know that listening to yourself talk is one of your favorite hobbies.”

“I much prefer the sound of your voice. The unpredictable inflections, murmurs, shouts and moans, and of course, the way you _use_ your voice to wear down my resistance to your considerable charms.”

Will did his best to be coquettish into his response, twirling the bite of steak in the juices and then lifting it slowly to his mouth, sliding it from the fork to his tongue and then humming as the savory-spicy flavor burst there. But he was nervous, overwhelmed at the thought of what was finally going to happen, after all this build-up. His tension had chafed long enough against his own suffocating restraint, and only one person could relieve it.

“I want you to try this,” Hannibal responded, seething with barely repressed desire. 

He removed the silver lid from a nearby platter and picked out a chocolate covered strawberry, then went to Will and hovered over him, teasing his mouth with the fruit. 

“Smells good,” Will smiled, and when he bit the fruit of course it was, because this was Hannibal. It was the freshest, most perfectly sweet, tart berry, draped in a still-warm robe of dark chocolate. 

Hannibal cupped Will’s face and swept his thumb over Will’s lips, picking up traces of melted chocolate which he inserted inside Will’s warm and waiting mouth.

Slowly, he began pumping his thumb in and out of Will’s mouth, tentative at first but then Will moaned and he slid in further, brushing over his tongue, using two other fingers to pry Will’s mouth roughly more open. 

He felt Will’s groan vibrating over his finger and then he removed it to suddenly grab Will up in his arms, eliciting a shaky gasp.

“Wha-what are you doing?” Will asked, clinging to Hannibal as he was matter-of-factly carried to the bedroom. 

“My own brand of vengeance,” Hannibal grunted, sitting down on the edge of the bed as Will scrambled off of him, his cheeks red as tomatoes. 

Hannibal’s predatory gaze sliced across the space between them, pressing hard into Will’s burst of frantic energy.

“Did you let yourself in for more than you can handle, Will?”

“I mean, yes,” said Will with a sardonic laugh. “Obviously. I just didn’t expect you to fucking carry me off like a brigand with a waifish maiden.”

“You are blushing like a maiden, in all fairness.”

Will nodded raggedly and took to pacing. “Suppose I may as well be a virgin when it comes to you. Obviously this is all I’ve wanted for so many months, despite how I fought it, but now? Faced with the full immensity of your love, probably your anger, too, I’m a bit overwhelmed. To put it lightly.”

“You perceive that my love for you carries with it a vigorous anger, because of how you intended to betray me. Pull the rug out from under me whilst I was blinded by the light of you and how you evoke my longing. Do you have it in you to resist that rage?”

Will gulped, his eyes raking over Hannibal’s sternly perfect posture, his big, dangerous hands resting on his lovely legs in that exquisite suit, all plaid and creme, the veins in his hands pulsing and twitching.

“No. But can I please have another glass of champagne first?”

“You may not, although I’m glad you have landed on a degree of politeness. It is a survival tactic this evening will require of you, in great quantity. Now take your clothes off.”

Will had all the power during their last intimate encounter, but now as he unbuttoned his cobalt shirt, he was flushed and shy, unable to savor the striptease or the craving it pulled from Hannibal, flashing in those dark eyes and spreading with the flick of his insatiable tongue over lush lips. Will kicked off his shoes, then pulled the shirt off slowly, knowing better than to misbehave by letting it crumple to the floor. He was in quite enough trouble already, and therefore made the wise choice to fold his clothing neatly and place the items on the bureau. Once he was naked, he placed his shoes and socks in a corner and returned to stand before Hannibal, the lamb offered up, the altar of his lover’s lap again beckoning.

“Come to me. Bend over my knee. Keep your body loose and pliable. This will be worse for you if you are tense.”

Trembling but elated, Will obeyed, glancing up at Hannibal’s cooling inscrutable expression before resting his cheek on the bed, placing his palms on the mattress with an eerie calm.

“I thought you wanted to pamper me.” There was a rakish chill in his own voice, and he was petulantly poking at Hannibal’s patience, which he realized was _his_ favorite toy.

Hannibal pressed his palm to the nape of Will’s neck, then roved his touch slowly down, pushing his hand into Will’s skin with merciless pressure. Will’s soft, aching sigh followed the movement harmoniously.

“You’re not even flinching,” Hannibal observed crisply. “Do you think I’m unaware that my discipline is a treat for you as well? At the moment, it’s only making me more frustrated with you.”

“I deserve to be punished, so I accept it. I’m turned on because it’s you, but...I wouldn’t want this with anyone else.”

Hannibal sucked in a breath as he clasped one of Will’s ass cheeks, then dug his fingertips into his supple skin.

“Ah,” Will flinched in pleasure. He wanted, all of a sudden, to make Hannibal madder. It would be a shame if the sight of his lovely submission lessened Hannibal’s outrage. He licked his lips. “Did you do this to Alana?”

Hannibal smacked his ass with ruthless force, keeping his free hand on Will’s back so he couldn’t buck against the pain.

Will gasped, his already half-hard cock swelling against the bed-clothes, uncomfortably confined.

“Don’t ask me about her again, Will. I’m here with you.” He traced the pink handprint on Will’s bottom, then spanked it again, his own erection throbbing at the sight of Will’s beautiful curves bouncing. “I wanted you the entire time, only you. And you knew it.”

“Yes,” Will hissed.

“You felt me, longing to touch your face, to drive my hands into your hair and pull, to take your body. You caught me surreptitiously smelling you, needing to taste you, most of all to be accepted and adored by you, and you used that against me.” Hannibal’s voice was thick and barbed.

“Yes.”

“Are you sorry?” 

“No. You hurt me for your own entertainment and convenience. You deserved to be used and hurt, after what you did.” Will’s eyes were already stinging with tears as his ass smarted. “We’re good at giving each other what we deserve, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m going to hurt you more,” Hannibal threatened, breaths getting heavier as he pressed a fist into the sore spots on Will’s bottom. “And more.”

He didn’t wait for a reply this time, just pulled off and spanked Will raw, hard and fast, the flat of his hand landing savagely again and again. Will gave a high-pitched whine, finally struggling now that it was much too late, his legs writhing, the challenge only making Hannibal hold him tighter and spank harder.

It went on for so long that Will lost himself to the rapturous flashes of pain, the sweet agony of Hannibal’s hands, this glorious torment finally externalizing how he’d felt for months, trapped and burning in Hannibal’s grasp. 

“Do you have anything to say now?” Hannibal asked breathlessly once he finally stopped.

“I’m still not sorry.” Will let his arms rest long and limp against the bed, his cock firmer than ever, leaking precum. “Perhaps even less sorry now.”

“Come here.” Hannibal lifted Will and turned him onto his stomach, then shook his head disapprovingly when his attempt to arrange him on hands and knees caused Will to crash back down, sore from his spanking.

“Not sorry...very mischievous, Will. And yet you took your punishment like such a very good boy. I cannot help wanting to kiss it all better.”

Will shivered as Hannibal lowered his warm, savoring mouth to each and every pink, aching inch of his ass, then moaned with depraved anticipation as Hannibal roughly spread his cheeks, reigniting the pain he’d just soothed. Hannibal growled softly, licking up each of Will’s cheeks and biting, first delicately, then firmly.

“Fuck!” Will grabbed at the sheets, twisting and pulling to ease the pain and tension this set off. “Don’t--”

“You’re mine and I’ll do as I please, Will. Won’t I?” Hannibal squeezed and kissed all over Will’s bottom again, finally kissing his tightly perfect hole, sweeping his tongue over it in a gentle tease which annihilated Will’s own patience.

“God! Please, I need you…” Will grabbed the sheets harder.

Hannibal smiled, endlessly satisfied with Will’s hungry desire, the total surrender of his attempts to pretend he had not wanted this all along with equal vigor. He licked Will’s hole again, his tongue broad, soft and lingering before he began to gradually open his lover with greater pressure, surrounding his entrance with wet, hot ministrations and then darting inside him, pressing a little deeper, his head spinning at the sounds this brought out of Will, boyish and absolutely desperate. 

“Stay there,” he said simply, but he was desperate, too, hard body throbbing with exhilarated lust. 

Practically ripping off his clothes, he threw them aside with the sort of terrible manners that told Will exactly how much he wanted this, a long-deferred, sweet and interminable claiming. 

There was a rough yank of the bedside table drawer and the unscrewing of a lube container lid, and Will lay there obediently expectant, ass elevated, still spit-moist, his entrance throbbing, his cock urgent and heavy between his spread thighs. Hannibal drizzled the lube liberally, and Will dared to look back, glimpsing Hannibal resting one firm, possessive hand on his ass and lining his rigid, girthy erection to his hole, a menacing, feral heat raging through eyes that had narrowed to near-black slits, his sculpted cheekbones rendering him a godlike appearance in the dimly lamplit room.

“_Will_,” Hannibal extolled as he began to press inside him, splitting Will with the fullness and darkness and power of his love, grabbing Will’s hips and stroking along the bones before sinking his fingers hard into the soft skin inside them. 

Will moaned loudly, his clingy fingers on the bedding releasing, spreading as his mouth fell further open, his damp eyes huge and the pleasure already rippling through him from head to toe. He did his best to fully relax his body, as there was nothing he wanted more than for Hannibal to thrust into him as deep and hard as possible.

Hannibal remained still for a moment, only a few inches inside him, and closed his eyes as if forever tucking this memory away, saving the feeling of penetrating Will, sinking his cock into Will’s hot, exquisitely squeezing confines and destroying every remaining boundary between them. There was nothing which their pride, resentment or anger could do to keep them apart anymore; they were purely joined, divinely, hellishly made one.

Hannibal hung his head as he sank in more deeply, allowing the emotion which he’d feared from this encounter to sweep over him, the feeling of loving Will so much that it hurt worse than anything else ever could, enough that it changed him and he let it. He could lose this someday, so easily; Will could change his mind and betray him, leave him all alone, or death could pay them an early visit, one or both of them, and this would be gone, this oneness, this pained euphoria shedding light on all the capacity for affection inside his soul which he’d long since tried to muffle. His lube-slicked cock glided with surprising ease despite Will’s tightness, because his lover had so completely relaxed for him, keeping his body still and open, and he clasped Will’s hips more tightly as his hips slapped against Will’s ass for the first time. The pleasure sang through every nerve and pore of his being as they both groaned, then Will hissed again, “Yes. Yes, baby, all of you, now, please.”

For once, Hannibal couldn’t resist doing exactly as he was told, but for those wicked words, Will had earned another spanking, so that the air was filled with the sticky-sweet smell of precum and sweat, the sounds of bodies slammed together in feverish ecstasy, along with the stinging smart of Hannibal’s hand spanking Will in time with his thrusts, grunting and heaving into his wild, wonderfully rebellious lover.

“You’re my baby,” Hannibal corrected him, complimenting long, teasing strokes with harsh slams until they were so slippery and shaky that he had to hold on tighter than ever to keep them balanced and unified. “My baby.” 

His shivers turned compulsive as his orgasm roared closer, and Will moaned, “Yes.”

Hannibal pounded into him as Will suddenly cried out his name, his cock spilling completely untouched onto the sheets, Will’s hole squeezing Hannibal as he yanked Will’s hair, grabbing him up close enough for a rough, lopsided kiss on his mouth, and then he exploded, white hot and copious, deep inside of Will. Hannibal didn’t recognize his own voice, cries so soft and crushed, destroyed by Will as thoroughly as he could have ever dreamed and dreaded.

Pulling out of him with a bone-deep shudder, Hannibal gripped him close, then dragged him down into a messy hug on the bed, Will spooned up into his devouring hold, both of them panting and smelling of each other. Hannibal bit Will’s shoulder, then tongued him, evoking a laugh that was downright giddy. 

“You taste...my God, Will, the _taste_ of you, I can’t…” Hannibal buried his nose at the nape of Will’s neck, brushing it through his hair, then lowering his lips to nibble at the sensitive, taut skin at the tip of his spine, laving his tongue over the fragile bumps of bone beneath the surface. “I can’t possibly have enough of you,” he admitted with a tremulous laugh of his own, introspective and amazed.

“Mmm. Good,” Will smiled contentedly, sighing and humming at Hannibal’s attentions. He placed his hands over his lover’s and gathered them carefully at his heart, pressing Hannibal’s hot palm to the drumbeat which was still trying to slow from frantic cacophony to solid clockwork. Hannibal always did have a way of ungluing the hands from his clocks, his common sense and decency. “You’re home now, remember?”

Hannibal held him tightly there, even slung a leg over his hip, and Will allowed it, even though Hannibal knew perfectly well that a part of him must be longing to fight free, to maintain autonomy and resist the crushing weight of Hannibal’s need of him, if nothing else to go back to teasing, like it represented some lilting, unconvincing song about how he could still, somehow, be free within himself.

Will did, however, have the remarkable cheek to wiggle his ass into the crook of Hannibal’s curved body, which took a bit of effort given that he was almost fully pinned beneath Hannibal’s leg. 

“Will,” said Hannibal in a low snap of reproval, the warmth spreading again in the depths of his belly, sending tingles through his cock until he began to harden. “Are you really so relentlessly inciting?”

“Dr. Lecter,” smirked Will, “I had no idea you were so fond of rhetorical questions.”

“Did you make more orange juice?” Will asked with that richly teasing depth to his voice that made Hannibal pause in the act of neatly buttoning his creaseless, light blue shirt.

They’d woken with a round of languorous love-making, then taken to the bathroom for what Will could only consider the most perfect Saturday morning bath imaginable, a long, hot, soaking snuggle amidst foamy bubbles smelling deeply of Hannibal’s sugary spice. Afterwards, Hannibal had carefully lavished Will’s sore ass with ointment which spread slick and suggestive over his highly sensitive flesh, filling his nostrils with peppermint and eucalyptus, making his heart skip a beat because he simply couldn’t seem to become accustomed to Hannibal touching his intimate areas, not without getting riled up all over again.

Now they dressed, using each other as a mirror as they stood face to face, Will easing his snug boxers up over his ointment-tacky rear as Hannibal’s eyes roved from the top of his curly head down his chest and belly with a playful, wanton smile.

“Are you making a request? Better yet,” he added, easily whisking his tie around his neck, securing the knot and then fastening his cuffs, “Are you admitting that you like me providing your food and drink, just as you enjoy me taking care of you in other respects?”

Will shrugged on his trousers and shirt. “Oh, you mean the way you washed all my clothes while I was sleeping?”

“You’re welcome to wear my clothes as well, if you wish.” A smirk as Hannibal put on his watch, reminding Will with a barrage of flashbacks exactly how skilled and thorough his hands and wrists could be.

“Bet you’d love that. I guess I’ll have to go home and pack a bag for myself at some point today, leave those notes for Jack and Alana as you so sensibly suggested. To be ready before we go.” Will hooked his hands into his pockets and let his brows drift upward, adding coyly, “But first, I’m very thirsty and I've got a bit of a craving. If you don’t have any oranges, I can go out and grab some from the store--”

Hannibal allowed Will’s words to pile neatly up between them, the simple but highly important admissions, the planning. _“Before we go.”_ Making preparations for their escape. Teasing, always tugging at Hannibal’s heartstrings with every naughty rise and fall of his voice, every way his neck bobbed and glided with the words.

“I confess I’m loathe to let you out of my sight at present. It’s true we have much to do in order to be ready, and we haven’t fully canvassed our plans, but…”

“It’s a half hour at the store, Hannibal. What else do we need? Make me a list.”

“Humph,” said Hannibal, finding his phone where he had hastily discarded it in the heap of last night’s clothes, and texting a quick grocery list to Will. “Very well, then. I’ll make us breakfast upon your return, and until then I can spend the time phoning clients. I’ve some appointments to reschedule without the slightest intention of ever keeping them, as you may imagine.”

“See you soon,” Will grinned, finishing tying his shoes and then going to Hannibal to bestow a brief kiss on his cheek before disappearing down the hall and out the front door.

As the sound of Will’s car starting in the driveway assured him he was alone, Hannibal allowed himself a momentary pout at his sudden solitude, and then he went through the laundry basket with the intent of putting the cleaned sheets back on the bed. He hesitated when he plucked a white-t-shirt, a size smaller than he wore himself, out of the pile, extricating it with a heady sigh. He clutched the soft, well-worn cotton and then buried his nose in it, squeezing his eyes shut and inhaling deeply, catching the notes of ivory soap and piney aftershave still lingering despite the slight influence of his own detergent. So focused was he on this sensory immersion that he neglected to observe the sound of Will’s car still idling outside, so that the sound of a voice behind him took him completely by surprise.

“Hey,” said Will, surprised as well, gentle and focused. “I forgot my wallet.”

Hannibal lowered the shirt, his cheeks burning as Will came close and took his face in both hands. _“Hey,”_ repeated Will hoarsely, gripped by the need to give comfort, struck to the heart by the embarrassing sentiment of Hannibal’s behavior. “I missed you already, too.”

His thumbs caressed over the fire in Hannibal’s cheeks, and Hannibal nodded, eyes downcast, letting the shirt fall back to the bed along with the rest of the unruly heap of clothes and bedding.

“I love you, Hannibal -- look at me, please.” Will’s eyes when Hannibal dared to meet them were a wonder to behold, an impossible profundity of conflicting urges: reveling in his power, longing to soothe away Hannibal’s remaining doubts, the humiliating existence within Hannibal’s impeccably clever and well-locked mind of _insecurity._

“I love you,” Will repeated, sweeping his touch over Hannibal’s back, guiding him closer as he brushed a kiss to his mouth. “I want to fuck you. May I, please?”

“Yes.” Hannibal felt Will’s words as a tsunami, effortlessly toppling his control, rippling through him with unheard-of arousal. At this moment he wanted to offer himself up fully to Will’s destructive tumult, and as his red-rimmed eyes shimmered in graceless need he added with a low chuckle, “Your car is still running outside.”

“I don’t care.” Will’s voice was rough as his reckless hands as he began to undress Hannibal. Once his shirt was undone, he leaned in to kiss his neck, to bite and suck and leave marks of his own, as Hannibal had painted him pink and purple and blue almost anywhere one wouldn’t be able to see above a collar. 

Soon, Hannibal learned that his precious Will’s tongue could be just as devilish rolling up and around and teasing his pulsing entrance as it was when it formed words to threaten his understanding of himself as a god, that Will’s mouth, pouring hot breath and husky exaltations of Hannibal’s beauty over his skin and into his body, would be his undoing; it would be a glorious life, an even more exultant death. Will held Hannibal’s thighs firmly, then spread Hannibal’s cheeks and bore down harder with his tongue, urged on by the sounds of his lover’s near-panicked moans and pleas, as if Will was as high on this moment as Hannibal himself.

The worst part wasn’t how his body thrilled to the sensation of Will taking him over, sinking teeth and muscle, weight and bone into him with the dazed abstraction of pent-up longing, no, nor even the way he lay in a lustful stupor, watching Will pull his own clothes off with a tight set in his jaw that spoke of an animal fervor ready to lunge for his throat. It wasn’t how he raised his chin and exposed his throat for the kill, parting his legs with a fluid ease he never would have imagined possible in any life prior to this one with Will. 

No, the worst part was the way Will began to handle him with such heart-breaking tenderness, cupping Hannibal’s face, stroking a thumb over his cheek, then his lips as he stroked lube-coated fingers slowly around his entrance, teasing before dipping inside. Will gasped at the hot, sleek tightness which greeted his confident pressure, tentatively pushing deeper as Hannibal stared into his bright eyes, neither of them capable of breaking the eye contact even as Will broke him apart. 

“_Ahhh,_” Hannibal gasped, spreading his thighs further, needing more of Will, everything, but torn asunder by that horrible tenderness in the blue eyes above him, Will's understanding and sensitivity to his own vulnerable exposure, to the simple fact that Hannibal thought of Will constantly, wanted nothing and no one else, and it was by now perfectly obvious. And so Will would use his power, but he would do so with such softness, almost as if he knew to do so would be to wreck his lover entirely, intensifying the open, reckless obviousness of Hannibal’s devotion to an unbearable extent. 

Will’s finger glided in to the knuckle and he began to pump, long and deft, sighing as his lashes fluttered gorgeously, lavishing words of comfort and praise. “That’s it, sweetheart, yes. There you go.” Leaning in to bite Hannibal’s neck, knicking the places he’d already wounded, Will added a second finger, demonstrating the power-drunkenness left unweakened by his inconvenient compassion. Hannibal was a beast, but he could be tamed, if only by one living creature, one exquisite beauty.

“Baby,” Will murmured, and Hannibal thought this was merciless, especially since he complimented the pet name by drizzling more lube, then adding a third finger and twisting thick and deep inside him, curling his fingers and striking Hannibal's prostate with razor-keen instinct, hitting the spot just enough to make Hannibal grab Will’s elbows and _mewl._

Will smiled, stroking his fingers through Hannibal’s hair and withdrawing his other hand carefully, adding with a kiss to his lover’s lips, “You’re my baby, too. Isn’t that right?”

Hannibal watched Will squeezing lube onto his palm, then slicking his bulging erection with it, a sight which made his own cock throb against his belly. 

“You’re too much to be believed,” Hannibal rasped, shaking fingers grasping at Will’s thighs to urge him close. “Or endured.”

“You’ll endure this, and everything else I have to offer you,” said Will with that same tender but knowing smile, and he bent over Hannibal, kissing his mouth deeply, slicking his cock against Hannibal’s stretched hole, swallowing Hannibal’s gasps and moans, but needing him to beg.

“Say it to me,” he insisted ruthlessly, and Hannibal nodded.

“I’m your baby,” Hannibal confessed, and that was all it took. 

Will fell upon him with a beastly fervor of his own, plunging inside him without a shred of delicacy, gripping Hannibal’s bicep and devouring his lips, their hips colliding in a tempo that rose abruptly from profound but steady, to careless, sloppy, greedy. It was decadent and divine, Will’s mouth lowering further to his chest, biting and sucking nipples, then Will driving into him as deep as possible, lifting Hannibal’s leg to slam in with a guttural sigh. 

They were a sticky, sloppy, clinging mess afterwards, wherever the afterwards was; somewhere between cuddles that escalated into Hannibal’s wrists in Will’s fiercest grasp, although he made no move to escape or do anything but open up more, press Will in deeper with his knees. At some point, Will laughingly threw his clothes back on and stumbled outside to shut the damn car off, only to stumble back inside to find that Hannibal had been busy, taking out a stash of sex toys and bondage gear to spread all over the bed while he regarded Will with a cheeky, faux-casual smirk.

“You never even put sheets back on the bed,” Will chuckled, climbing onto Hannibal’s lap and straddling him as Hannibal’s fingers dug hard into his curls. “At this rate, we’re going to need a new mattress.”

“Good,” Hannibal said with a short nod, pleased with himself, proud beyond measure of his Will. “We’ll soon be moving house anyway. But while we’re here, my love, tell me: what do you think of my little collection?”

Will’s restless eyes flitted, intrigued, over the cuffs, collar, riding crops, paddles, plugs, dildos, and bit gag. So much black leather, shiny, brand new and unused, as if this collection had only ever been curated with Will in mind.

Hannibal clasped Will’s chin roughly and forced his gaze back to his own, adding sharply, “I’m a very bad person, Will. What will I do to you? And you…” He sighed, untucking Will’s shirt, then yanking it open, loving the snap and spill of buttons, the catch in Will’s breath. “I believe you also still owe me quite a bit of justice.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally nearing the end of this fic. Just some smutty fun in this chapter, with an epilogue soon to follow. Hope you enjoy! <3

“So hasty, Will,” Hannibal chided huskily, lightly slapping the side of Will’s face. “And impatient.”

Will gasped, thrilled at the contact, and bucked his hips suggestively again.

What else was he supposed to do, blindfolded, naked and bound to the bed by wrists and ankles, his thighs spread wide and the chain of his collar periodically tugged by Hannibal, who kept just hovering and teasing and waiting.

“I can’t help it,” Will pouted, not needing to see to know the effect this would have on Hannibal. “I’m so hungry.”

“Poor baby,” Hannibal soothed, running one fingertip under the collar to ease the tension on Will’s throat, then stroking down his chest to his low belly. “We can’t have that. I’ve planned to accommodate your hunger, of course. Have you guessed the game?”

“I think you want to feed me,” Will ventured thoughtfully. “I just haven’t quite decided why. You told me to save up my appetite...but is it because you think I’ll deny you if you try to feed me one of your more specialized forms of cuisine? You must know better than that by now.”

“You did enjoy Randall Tier’s organs a little too thoroughly for you to have been feigning,” Hannibal smiled. “Rest assured, I’ve saved some of him just for today’s occasion, in addition to which, as you’ve likely smelled, I’ve been busy in the kitchen preparing all manner of delicacies, things worthy of being tasted, savored, and judged…” He slipped his thumb into Will’s mouth and roved it over his tongue, releasing a heady sigh. “By this mouth. And then, when you’ve tasted, I want you to guess.”

“Guess…” Will licked Hannibal’s thumb, sucked and bit it, earning another slap which provoked another hip jerk as his cock throbbed needily. “What is it you want me to determine, Hannibal?”

Will could guess at the sly, cavelier look he shot him as he patted the cheek he’d just slapped. “I want you to guess where we’re going.” Then he disappeared and Will fell into silent anticipation, ravenous for so much more than fine cuisine and the excitement of a guessing game about his future destination.

“More than where we’re going,” Will surmised when Hannibal came back into the room carrying a tray; he could tell because it clattered ever so slightly as Hannibal sat down beside him and placed it down on the bed, then prepared the first bite for his eager lover.

“You want me to guess where you’re taking me to begin our new life,” Will added with a smile both tender and elated.

“Clever boy. Let’s see just how clever. Open up for me.” Hannibal couldn’t see Will’s eyes rolling under the blindfold, but soon Will’s amused reaction melted into fresh arousal as his taste buds burst under the delectably soft, then crunchy morsal which Hannibal placed on his tongue.

“Where we are going, the most traditional appetizer is a plate of native cold meats, often served upon a crusty bread topped with liver paste.”

The thin slices of salty meat bore the flavors of prosciutto because of the way they had been smoked and seasoned, yet Will tasted a more exotic undertone, guessing that a different cut of Randall had been used for this part, whereas he need hardly venture a guess as to the origin of the “liver paste.”

“Mmm,” he smiled, although he was beginning to be uncomfortably aroused between the naughtily suggestive, painfully drawn out game, the taboo nature of the food, and the exhilaration of putting himself into Hannibal’s ready hands, to be taken wherever his lover thought they should go, then pampered and lavished in the sorts of luxury which would make him pretend to turn his nose up in dismay before melting into moans of appreciation. “Is that a bruschetta as well? It’s scrumptious.”

“You have the most voluptuously obscene palate which it has ever been my privilege to cultivate. Think how far you have come from when I first began to serve you,” Hannibal praised, feeding him the rest of the crostini. “There, now. Are you thirsty as well?”

“So, so thirsty,” Will admitted, licking his lips. 

Hannibal lifted a glass of beautifully aromatic Sangiovese to Will’s lips, knowing it was sure to explode across his sweet palate in resplendent notes of cherry spices. As Will took an over-eager gulp, Hannibal silently rebuked him by spilling more wine all over his face. But then he could hardly resist the need to lean in and lap it all up, then lick deep into Will’s mouth as his lover sighed, his hands and legs pointlessly fighting the restraints, wanting to pull Hannibal closer, all the way down into him.

“Forgive me, I’m getting a bit carried away,” Hannibal smiled, his lips tingling as he battled the urge to just give in right now. He had been completely right in his former assumption that he could never possibly get enough of his cunning boy. “Any guesses yet?”

“Italy,” Will theorized, desperate for the game to conclude. No matter how scrumptious the food was, Hannibal was more so, _so_ much more so. “Do I have to nail it down to a specific region before you nail _me_?”

Hannibal clucked his tongue. “Where are your manners? Yes, Will, I’m going to need more detail from you to consider the answer complete. Now let me see to your main course.”

“I can’t help but notice that you seem to be skipping a few courses, almost as if you are impatient yourself, perish the thought,” Will said archly. 

The snide expression was wiped off his face by the weight of luscious gnocchi soon slid into his mouth. There was a carefully slight layer of exquisite gorgonzola which, if it had been doused on would have been too strong, but like this it was just right...just right…

“_Oh,_ mmm,” Will moaned as Hannibal’s thumb traced the movement of chewing in his cheek, then followed the swallow gliding down his throat, stroking Will’s neck. “Gnocchi with truffles...and gorgonzola...and…”

“We mustn’t forget this,” Hannibal added, chortling fondly as he cleared a spare fleck of sauce from Will’s chin. He teased Will with another mouthful of food, this time a soft, rich bite of lobster that practically fell apart on his tongue.

“Fuck,” Will sighed, “I can’t take much more of this, Hannibal. It’s actually too good.”

He knew it was exactly what Hannibal wanted: to take Will away with him to a new life where he would continually spoil him, between the food and the sex and the black-red thrill of blood in the moonlight to consecrate it all, so that every single day Will would tell him it was _too good_, almost more pleasure than he could take. The ambition was nearly silly in its giddy idealism, its innate greed, yet it undeniably had Will hornier than he had ever been in his whole fucking life.

“And it makes you need me,” Hannibal mused, setting the dishes aside and unbuttoning his shirt, then his trousers, stripping down to enjoy his dessert. He unfastened Will’s ankles from the restraints, then climbed on top of Will and let his love feel the naked warmth of him finally laid where it belonged. 

“Yes,” Will admitted, and Hannibal kissed him gently, licking the corners of his mouth. “Yes, yes, but I already needed you.”

“I’m going to make it up to you for every one of those horrid prison meals you had to suffer.” Hannibal nuzzled into Will’s neck, kissing slowly, and Will let out a shaky breath.

“Apparently. God...oh God, touch me, Hannibal, please.” 

“Soon, baby, soon. Only one more treat first.” As Will groaned, Hannibal stuck his fingers unceremoniously into the slice of dessert on the beside table, gathering up a generous chunk, then crushed it against Will’s mouth, making sure some of it also landed on his chin.

Will licked at the indulgent layers of ladyfinger cookies, mascarpone, coffee and cocoa, sighing, “Tiramisu. Are we going to Florence? You've spent a fair amount of time regaling me with tales of your youthful glory there. Gonna show me the sights?” 

“Yes exactly, Will, although no other sight could rival your loveliness, especially in your current state. And although it defies belief, I almost forgot the sauce.” He grinned wickedly as he picked up the small bowl of dark chocolate sauce and lifted the spoon to drizzle it first over Will’s face, then onto his tongue once Will laughed and opened up for it, then down over the length of Will’s body.

“I hope you’re going to have some of this dessert with me,” Will smiled, blissed out. “It would be a shame for you to miss out.”

“I couldn’t possibly agree more,” Hannibal smirked before descending on Will, kissing and licking up every single drop of sauce, laving it from his face, then gliding his tongue down Will’s smooth, warm chest, licking it from his nipples, kissing and biting further and further down, lavishing his tongue shamelessly over Will’s dick, finally providing some relief to the urgently pulsing arousal he’d set off what seemed like ages ago, when he first secured Will to the bed.

Hannibal’s head bobbed devotedly as he took Will’s thick cock deep into his mouth whilst teasing his hole with two lubed-up fingers, but it wasn’t Will who lost patience with the foreplay this time. Actually, he maintained excellent tolerance for whatever pace Hannibal chose to set, happily gasping and bucking in time with his ministrations, but the sight of his wild-haired lover covered in sticky remnants of chocolate, tied up and blindfolded, was more than the killer could take without going mad with need to be balls deep in his tight, velvety perfection.

“Yes, baby, _God_,” Will sighed devoutly, locking his legs tightly around Hannibal’s torso and urging him deeper as Hannibal started to push his big, throbbing length inside his beckoning heat.

Hannibal found a few stray drops of chocolate sauce still lingering on Will’s neck and face, and so he took the excuse to lick and bite at his neck with animal fervor, to lap up Will’s jaw and cheek, twirl his tongue around his full, scrumptious lips as Will laid there and took it all with dreamy submission, his cock trapped heavy and leaking between them.

Every time Hannibal thrust back into Will, he set off a chain reaction of pleasure for them both that grew fuller and more radiant as he went on, deeper and harder, not caring that there was no more sauce to helpfully clean from Will’s face and he was now unabashedly, passionately licking and lapping all over it simply for the taste and feel of his love, the soft bristle of stubble over smooth, hot, damp skin; Will tasted like heaven without any need for embellishment. He grinned pridefully as Will gave a guttural grunt and came, spilling plentifully all over both of their stomachs, lubricating the glide of their bodies as Hannibal’s grip on Will’s shoulder and hip tightened like a vice. He fucked Will through his orgasm, extending it as Will shuddered in disbelief, and then he tumbled over into his own, moved by the pure, incomparable harmony of their bodies more than he had ever been by the most exquisite aria, the most flawless Botticelli. 

“Ouch,” Will pouted again once they could breathe at a somewhat normal state, Hannibal gently withdrawing from his body and smirking down at the mess all over their torsos, and leaking from Will’s hole as well. 

“If you want my help in relieving some of the discomforts of your bondage, Will, it’s not a particularly wise idea to tease me again by doing that with your mouth.” Still breathing hard and fast, Hannibal pressed his thumb into Will’s lower lip, then tugged it lightly and nipped it with his teeth.

“Fuck, okay, okay,” Will laughed shakily once Hannibal drew back. “My wrists hurt. The back of my _neck_ hurts, Jesus. Can I see you again now?”

Hannibal smiled indulgently and untied the bright paisley silk necktie which he had selected because of the way Will had poked fun at the “loud” pattern while exploring his lover’s wardrobe. He seemed to consider Hannibal’s sartorial collection a delightful source of entertainment, often pausing to rub his face against a favorite suit jacket, to take a handful of cuff-links and “accidentally” spill them all on the floor so that their perfect organization was ruined, or to bite on one of the ties, just to see how Hannibal would react (usually, it was spanking, then a sound, deep fucking, so the effort paid off). It occurred to Hannibal that if Will could accumulate this amount of mischievous behavior over the course of their first weekend as a couple, he could scarcely imagine how much more naughtiness he would devise in Florence. They were well-matched in this regard, as in every other.

Will blinked up at him with a wicked glimmer and half-smile, and Hannibal sighed and shook his head. “You truly are insatiable. Even when we are both far too exhausted to continue our assignations, you choose to accumulate more memories for me to consider following up on the next time.”

He unclasped the cuffs around Will’s wrists and slipped his hand to the base of Will’s skull, easing his head down to rest with soothing attention. 

“Can you blame me?” Will asked, rubbing his wrists with a low grunt of irritation at their sore state, red-ringed and tired from repeated tugging. “It’s not like you don’t know perfectly well how attractive you are, Dr. Lecter. I catch you checking yourself out in the mirror on a regular basis. Surely you understand my struggle.”

Hannibal paused in the act of slowly kissing all over Will’s wrists, raising his eyebrows. “Attractive?”

“Oh, honey, is that not florid enough for your tastes? Let me try again. Handsome.”

Hannibal held back a laugh and shook his head, trying to remain stern.

“Okay, breathtakingly handsome!”

“Better. And I think you know I find you to be much the same.”

“Really?” Will smirked teasingly, “I had no idea. Dr. Lecter, I declare, you will turn my head.”

“I find you to be much too much, Will. Delightfully so.” Hannibal pulled his lover on top of him, where Will straddled him happily, resting his palms on his hairy chest and ogling his body with unabated fascination. Hannibal grabbed his hips and they smiled at each other in contented rebuilding arousal, and a flicker of fear went through him, one he had held at bay for the length of their special weekend together.

Their temporary respite here in his Baltimore home was at an end, and soon they would fly to Italy together -- supposedly. He still couldn’t be one hundred percent certain Will would truly go through with their planned escape into a new life together, and even if Will did follow him all the way, there was the matter of Abigail. He hadn’t been able to find a way to tell him yet, that she was still alive, and Hannibal was beginning to accumulate a painful paranoia that the discovery of how he had lied about that might ruin their newfound bliss.


	7. Chapter 7

“Have you decided yet, Will?” Hannibal inquired, neatly rolling his suitcase towards baggage check as they walked side-by-side through the airport.

Will knew exactly what he meant, but he didn’t want to think about it at that moment. Maybe it was the way Hannibal’s white shirt was buttoned to the top, just barely concealing the lines of the leather collar so recently encircled about his throat, along with the myriad bite and suck marks purpling his skin there, and all over. Beneath the similar shirt he wore, only in maroon, Will’s own neck was still sore from his turn with the collar, his wrists lightly lined where he’d been cuffed, shoved to the bed and fucked relentlessly. The memories rolled over his senses, stifling everything but the need for more, and not only of their sex. 

He wanted to go everywhere with Hannibal, share each other's' lives, rituals from the dull to the most sinfully macabre, petty bickering, meals of a delectably _wrong_ nature. Things he’d lied to himself for ages about not wanting. Letting himself love Hannibal overtly had opened Will’s floodgates, not only to the honesty between them but also his own ability to be truthful to himself, to _be_ himself. And with a fierce adoration tempered by indescribable gratitude, he more than wanted all of Hannibal: he needed him. 

Grateful, grateful, grateful. Thankful to the man who had contorted him without consent to within an inch of his life all to sadistically prove a goddamned point. How could it be that he felt this? Will trailed Hannibal, admiring his fit, powerful physique in the simple shirt and blue plaid suit trousers, so beautifully unique, exotically compelling, and Jesus Christ, Will had turned very quickly into a love-addled idiot, so it was a good thing being one felt so wonderful. So freeing. 

If he was being honest about the gratitude, he’d admit to himself that he knew Hannibal’s real motivation, even in his darkest deeds against Will, had always been the most devoted love. Even when Hannibal lied to himself that it was for entertainment or to see what would happen, he went very far out of his way to sculpt Will into someone who could live with himself and stop suffocating miserably in a tightly constricting chrysalis.

“This is it,” Hannibal remarked, casual as could be, handing his boarding pass to the hostess at the gate. 

Will’s hand tightened on the strap of his carry-on bag. 

Hannibal arched a brow, a light smile tweaking his lips although Will could practically taste the throb of his runaway heartbeat. He knew Hannibal’s happiness in life, or the loss of it, hinged on this moment.

“Have you decided whether you are really going through with this, Will?” Hannibal asked, caramel eyes pouring curiosity and lust over him, turned on and intrigued and mastered by Will’s incomparably wild mind and its unpredictability.

“Oh, yes,” Will teased, although his own agitated heartbeat was rivaling the force of his lover’s. 

He handed his pass to the hostess and felt his old life slip behind him, still retrievable at this moment but only just. Soon to pass into the ether of impossible things, as his new existence with Hannibal, which he once considered an absurd fantasy, became the truth. 

“Well, then. After you,” Hannibal suggested, waiting as if he still didn’t completely believe Will would go. 

With a sly smirk at him for this badly behaved show of doubt, Will stalked forward, his footsteps thudding over the tunnel from the building onto the plane. He’d just stepped on board, ready to get comfortable in first class -- actually pretty damn curious what first class would actually be like -- when Hannibal grabbed his elbow and spoke with new urgency into his ear.

“I’ve done something which seemed to be a perfectly fine idea at the time, and now I’m not certain it was the right decision,” Hannibal admitted sheepishly.

“Isn’t that all you ever do?” Will smiled, wry and baffled as to Hannibal’s sudden panic. 

They were finally doing this, leaving together; what could possibly be wrong _now_? Whatever dumbass error in judgement Hannibal had made this time, Will knew he would forgive it, especially since -- for _once_ \-- Hannibal actually felt bad about it.

“Guys, can you keep going?” A fellow passenger complained from behind them in line, prompting a murderous glare from Hannibal.

“Down, boy,” Will laughed, gently pinching Hannibal’s cheek, pleased that he could do that and live to see another day, which no one else on the planet could likely say.

Hannibal couldn’t muster a smile. “I did it for us, but now that we’re on the precipice of the surprise I planned, I find myself unusually hindered by trepidation.”

The other passengers continued to grumble and complain at them, and Will shrugged, moving forward again, heading for their seats.

“Really, Hannibal, whatever it is, calm down. After everything else you’ve done, I’m still here, so what could be so--”

First class was nice, Will realized, even more so than he’d expected. The seats were huge, more like lounges actually, plush grey seating with large tray tables that would actually fit a tray of food and reading material; a good-sized tv screen on the wall across from each of the seats. Each of the _three_ seats in front of him. One was occupied by a pretty, slender girl of college age with wind-chapped cheeks and a scarf elegantly covering a scar on her throat. A long sweep of glossy, dyed-blonde hair easily cloaked her missing ear.

“Hi, Will,” Abigail greeted him, her smile meek because she knew this was a shock to him. “I’m sorry about all this, I tried to tell him that springing it on you like this was a bad--”

“Thank you, Abigail, I think we can all agree that I’ve shown better judgement.” Hannibal already looked crushed by the cold rage flashing in Will’s eyes.

“Sit down, Hannibal,” Will snapped, pointing at the window seat on the other side of Abigail. 

“Will, if you’ll allow me to explain,” Hannibal hemmed, “I wanted this to be part of the revelation of our new beginning together, the start of our family--”

“Sit down and shut up. Don’t talk to me again, possibly ever, unless I tell you it’s okay to open your big, lying mouth,” Will directed, and Hannibal obliged, ducking his head and gulping.

Will reached down and Abigail rose up onto her knees in her seat to hug him close, murmuring, “Don’t be too hard on Dad, he meant well. He thought it would be a nice surprise.”

With an already exhausted sigh at the mere thought of analyzing Hannibal’s decision-making process, Will squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He opened his wary eyes again to see Hannibal staring out the window in resolute, offended silence, hands folded in his lap as Abigail looked back and forth between them like a chipper, doting daughter ready to facilitate their reconciliation.

“_Dad_?” Will inquired. “Did he brainwash you or something? More mushroom tea, psychic driving? If he did anything like that to you, Abigail, I swear I’m going to--”

“Shh, it’s fine, don’t freak out. He didn’t do that.”

“But he took your ear,” Will whispered, horrified, “And crammed it down my throat.”

“I asked him to-- well, not the cramming-it-down-your-throat part, that was stupid,” she rolled her eyes. “Sorry he framed you for killing me; he’s been regretting that for ages now. He almost never shuts up about you and how much he loves you, by the way, it's a little nauseating. But I did ask him to help me fake my own death. I want to get away and start my life over, be someone new. No more looking over my shoulder thinking everyone is judging me on my past.”

“Yeah, and whose idea was _that_?” Will grimaced. “Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking you’re in control when Hannibal’s around.”

“Don’t make the mistake of forgetting why he likes us, Dad,” Abigail replied with a soothing smile. “Oh, sorry-- too soon? Dad said we could be a family, so…”

“Of course I want to be...your dad, Abigail, I just don’t know if that’s what’s best for you. I would have liked it to be a discussion between the three of us, not this-- disaster-mess on a plane.”

“He knew you wouldn’t immediately kill him for keeping me a secret,” she giggled, “If he revealed it to you while we were on a plane.”

Will sighed, sifting through the complimentary snacks in the pouch beside his chair, not really seeing anything but red. “Why does he like us?” he grumbled.

“We’re special,” Abigail proclaimed, proud. “The three of us understand each other in a way no one else can. Dad’s taught me that hunting doesn’t have to be a source of shame, not when you only target people who deserve it. I finally feel okay about some of the things I was blaming myself for, so hard, ever since my bio-dad died. I’m sorry, by the way, that I snapped at you that time and said you couldn’t be my father just because--”

“I killed yours,” he nodded. “Don’t be sorry, you were right. I was trying to exert paternal influence over you, and even though my intentions were to protect you, I was projecting my own wish of being a family on you before you had a chance to adjust to losing your own. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“You loved me, right from the start, Dad,” she grinned, taking his hand with a reassuring squeeze. “You both did. Dad knows we’re the only ones smart enough to play on his level. He can’t outsmart us -- we’re his equals. What’s better than that?”

The flight attendant began going through the safety protocol, and Will kept whispering so they wouldn’t get scolded for carrying on a conversation.

“Safety? Normalcy? Stability?” Will suggested.

“Where else could I be safer than with you guys?” Abigail countered. “I don’t want to be normal, I never have been and it’s overrated anyway. Stable? Who says we can’t create our own version of that together? I have more love around me right now than I’ve ever felt. Our connection isn’t about advantage or trickery, it’s real.”

“I just want you to be okay,” Will sighed, slipping his fingers under his blurry glasses to wipe tears away. “It’s all I ever wanted.”

“I’m more than okay,” she insisted, “See?”

Will looked at her cheerful face, the smile of a girl off to see the wide world for the first time ever, ready to soak up history, culture, and adventure, fully trusting the guardians who would be there to help shape that experience, teaching her all they knew. 

He looked over at Hannibal’s annoyingly noble profile across the aisle, at the lines of his strong frame willingly rendered vulnerable as he waited and hoped for Will’s forgiveness and approval. The lion, lying down for the lamb. Who would ever have thought it possible?

“We don’t deserve you,” he worried. 

“When are you going to start believing you deserve anything? I think you’re wonderful, so brilliant and kind. I look up to you.” Abigail got excited when the plane began to shift into motion. “Ooh, we’re taking off. Have you ever been to Europe? I’ve never even left the country. Do you get airsick?”

He smiled, relaxing a little at her cute prattle, which he knew was meant to put him at ease. It worked more because her intention was so sweet. 

“Not usually,” Will answered, biting back a smile when Hannibal dared to glance at him, then sharply looked away, out the window, pridefully sullen. Will would deal with _that_ later. “Want to pick out a movie to watch together?”

“You’re under no obligation to stay,” Hannibal announced stiffly to Will once they had arrived at his extravagantly appointed flat in Florence. 

At the airport, Abigail had befriended a group of college students who were staying at a nearby hostel on a study abroad trip, and after dropping her luggage off had gone out to have a late dinner with them.

This left the two of them alone in the bedroom that looked like something out of a dream, perfectly posh and splendid, with a king-sized bed across from an enormous window overlooking sights of moonlit piazzas and cathedrals that were yet more surreal. It ought to be the most sublime scene for romance, but…

“If you wish to take up rooms elsewhere, alone, of course you could still see Abigail without having to be bothered by my presence,” Hannibal continued, unpacking his pile of carefully folded clothing and arranging them, business-like, in the closet and wardrobe.

Will heaved his own suitcase onto the bed beside Hannibal’s and rolled his eyes. “Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

“After how you reacted on the plane, I just assumed…” Hannibal trailed off, finally looking up from his obsessive fashion arrangement to see the bemused look on Will’s face. A sudden glint of hope rushed back over his features.

“I know what you assumed, that my love is some flimsy emotion that can be easily swept away the first time you disappoint me. Honestly, on top of the hideous deception about Abigail and the way you used her disappearance to put me behind bars, _and_ that you still didn’t bother telling me she was alive until today, it’s even more upsetting that you don’t get it. You still, unbelievably, don’t understand that I’ll never stop loving you.”

Will shook his head sternly, grabbing his white t-shirts, flannels and boxers in crumpled heaps and cramming them into the wardrobe on what was obviously going to be his side of the room.

“Stop that,” Hannibal insisted, going to him and placing a hand on top of his. “You’re doing it like that deliberately to provoke me. Will, I’m sorry...for all the assumptions.”

“You’re lucky I don’t insist on wearing nothing but _these_\--” He held up his oldest, most faded pair of blue jeans -- “the entire time we’re here, on all your elegant outings to fancy _ristorantes_ and such.” He put an extra dramatic Italian accent on the word “ristorante” and Hannibal couldn’t help laughing.

“I’d deserve such a fate, completely, and would embrace it in due penance.” Hannibal took Will’s hand and led him to the window, where they gazed out over the breathtaking medieval city. “I want to show you everything this city has to offer. Florence is where I became a man, and there is no one with whom I would rather explore it all over again, learn it inside out as we come to know one another, body, mind, heart and soul. I can only hope you will accept my invitation as well as my apology--”

“Your _what_?” Will prompted, pretending to clean something out of his ear with one finger.

“My apology,” Hannibal repeated gamely, threading their fingers together until the warm, familiar tangle of skin and bones comforted them both. “For starting our journey here under such awkward circumstances.”

“Hmm,” Will pondered, taking Hannibal’s other hand and playing with the gold ring on his finger. “What’s this all about, part of your alias?”

Will had elected to let Hannibal keep their new cover stories a secret until they arrived, proving that there were some surprises -- _reasonable_ ones! -- that he was fully capable of enjoying. He liked allowing Hannibal the chance to brag and show off about his cunning plots, especially since it was undeniably a huge turn-on.

“It is an engagement ring. I have one for you, too,” Hannibal confided a bit shyly. “If you will have it. This particular cover is one I have planned for quite some time, ever since I began to hope that you returned my affections. I will be Dr. Roman Fell, a curator at the Capponi Library. As it happens, I am recently divorced from my lovely wife, Lydia, and newly engaged to a younger man. It’s quite the scandal.”

“Oh, is that so?” Will pulled Hannibal closer until they were chest to chest, then lifted his chin so their lips were only a whisper’s breadth apart, draping his arms languidly around Hannibal’s neck. “What brought on the end of your seemingly charmed marriage, Dr. Fell?”

“I found myself desperately in love with a young student of mine who actually served as my T.A. Dreadfully inappropriate, I know, as a starting point for an intimate relationship, but I’m afraid that when it came to Anthony Dimmond, I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.”

“Anthony...Dimmond,” Will tried out his new name. “I guess that will do. What’s my job?”

“You’re a poet,” Hannibal revealed, causing Will to groan. “In reality, you may do as you please, find whatever occupation or hobby suits you best, once we remove the real Dr. Fell and Anthony Dimmond from play. Of course, we have also taken in an adopted daughter, a brilliant student of psychology who was tragically orphaned when a fire claimed her family home in Montaione.”

Will chortled. “Of course.”

Writing actually didn’t sound so bad. It might be healthy to get some of his swirling thoughts, emotions and experiences down on paper. Someday he might find a way to publish his adventures under a pen name, with enough alterations to persons and events in the tales to avoid being traced as the author. He might turn out to be a terrible writer, but since his cover identity involved the pretense of the role, why not take it out for a spin? And he could teach, too, maybe...but he was getting ahead of himself. One thing was for sure: Will was highly intrigued by the chance to step into a new identity and manipulate the role over time to his own whims.

“I guess this crazy new life of ours is diabolically appealing to me after all. And maybe that’s just fine,” Will suggested, pressing a gently teasing kiss to Hannibal’s lips. “Murder and mayhem, romance, parenting and art -- welcome to Florence. Is that it?”

“Can you think of anything better?”

“I can. Take me to bed.”

Hannibal’s haughty smile was back, and the sly sparkle in his eyes to match, a combination Will could never resist. With his hands firmly on Will’s hips, he pushed their groins together, creating a blissful hint of friction. “I will, my darling fiance -- and dare I hope I may one day call you my intended in earnest?”

“You may dare. Behave yourself, Hannibal, and I’ll _think_ about taking you up on that. Can you do that for me? Can you just, for once, _behave_?”

“Just a little bit,” Hannibal proposed, kissing Will more deeply and backing him into the bedroom, lowering him to the bed as the cool night breeze tossed the gauzy curtains around. 

“I can behave,” he claimed Will’s lips again and again as they peeled off each other’s clothes, acting with so much shameless abandon that anyone would think it was the first time they made love. Florentine city lights glittered over them as they rolled around, playfully fighting for dominance. 

“A little tiny bit,” he grinned mischievously as Will wriggled out from beneath him briefly, just to procure the bottle of lubricant from the suitcase they had shoved on the floor. “Is that enough?”

Will slicked up their cocks and they moaned loudly when he took them both in hand and began to stroke. “I think -- coming from you it’s -- fuck!”

“_God_, don’t behave too much,” Will requested, lying on top of Hannibal and grinding their throbbing lengths together, gasping as his sensitive balls rubbed against Hannibal’s on every slide back down. 

“Will,” Hannibal gasped, his eyes rolling back when Will slammed his wrists into the mattress and increased the tempo of his grinding. 

Hannibal craned his head up as best he could to lick at Will’s nipples, and was rewarded by the sound of Will sighing raggedly, astonished as he came in full force all over Hannibal, continuing to grind down to extend the pleasure of his orgasm and urge Hannibal’s own. 

“Don’t be _too_ much of a good boy, Hannibal,” Will teased in a throaty voice, still half-breathless from completion. He climbed back down Hannibal’s body and took his cock deep into his mouth, sucking euphorically until his lover’s cum poured down his throat, Hannibal’s fingers tensing hard in Will’s hair before they finally relaxed as dizzy rapture faded into happy afterglow.

“Just think, we might never have ended up here together if you weren’t so absolutely helpless when you get a cold,” Will reminded him as they lay face to face on the fluffy pillows, naked and stretched lazily upon the fancy duvet which was going to need quite a cleaning. 

“Or if you weren’t so absurdly nosy and intrusive a nurse,” Hannibal laughed, pulling one of Will’s curls just to watch it spring back up into formation, one of his favorite hobbies.

“I think I would look pretty damn cute in a nurse’s outfit,” Will winked.

“I would _dearly_ like to see that, Will.”

“Play your cards right, maybe someday you’ll get to. Remember: no murders unless you run the details by me first, and I’d better be right by your side for most of them. We’ll review all parenting decisions together as partners, and treat Abigail respectfully as an adult.”

Hannibal grinned, showing off his gleaming fangs in the moonlight. “I solemnly swear to uphold your rules, my love. Any other requirements you forgot to mention?”

“Mmm. When you’re sick, always remember to take your medicine.” Will kissed his pretty mouth, running his fingers through Hannibal’s sweaty silver locks, continually amazed by his beauty.

“How can I refuse?” Hannibal pushed Will over onto his back and hovered above him, laying slow, wet, luxurious kisses into the soft and over-bitten skin of his neck. 

“I can’t believe you’ve got me going all over again...mmm,” Will murmured, enraptured, rubbing his hands over Hannibal’s firm biceps.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude, my darling,” Hannibal smiled between kisses, looking up with fond, heavy-lidded eyes at Will’s blissed out expression. “Thanks to you, I’ve developed a special fondness for quiet days at home filled with reading and the very best company, following the orders of an impetuous, sulky, stunning boy who almost _always_ knows best, and of course, the faux-minty, otherwise intolerable taste of sleep-inducing antihistamines.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've felt a little uncertain about this fic after the first chapter, not quiiiite sure I shouldn't just have left it a one-shot. But actually I loved writing this ending, and it was super-fun, taking me to places with the characters I didn't quite predict. Hope you enjoyed it as well, and thanks for reading! <3 <3
> 
> The story title is taken from the song "And Then You Kissed Me" by the Cardigans. A beautifully unique song, and Hannigram af!


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